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Fallout: The Devil's in Dog City (IC)

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Das Metro
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Ex-Nation

Fallout: The Devil's in Dog City (IC)

Postby Das Metro » Sat Oct 18, 2014 1:58 pm

August 1st, 2281
Denver, Colorado
The City of Darwin
Sunrise...


They say that the Denver wasteland never sleeps. That would be an accurate statement. Through all hours of the night, one can hear the sounds of struggle, pain, and of course, dogs. This miasma of noise carries on over to day all the same, though now there are people to hear it. To acknowledge it. To get pissed off about it.

The slowly rising sun cast a canvas of shadows upon the ground in the City of Darwin, blanketing the hard ground in translucent blackness. Though many wastelanders wouldn't be up until later in the day, traders were already coming out of the cities nooks and crannies. The early bird gets the worm, and in Darwin, there was a whole lot of birds, and not a can of worms to speak of. There was no dotor's office, or any established form of commerce at that. If you wanted to survive, you had to scavenge. Unlike some other parts of postwar America, scavenging meant you had to be one mean son of a bitch.

Scavenging has become somethig of a sport in Darwin, in that it is highly competitive, There are stories in the city of people dying for scrap, and killing for wonderglue. Whether or not these are true are up to debate, but by the way people carry themselves around Darwin, one can only assume there is a grain of truth.

To the far west, the Legion was already starting their morning patrols, the officers drilling the recruits... and in the north, Seth was sitting comfortably in his little fortress of solitude. Today was like any other in Denver, and Alton Melvyn felt more then comfortable opening the city gates as he did every other week for the refugees who were tough enough to survive that long 'in between' week of hell, without shelter, and often abiut food.

Darwin can be easily regarded as a personification of Denver itself. It's dirty, filled with self-serving assholes... and only the strong will prosper. So how 'bout you kid? How long will you last..?
Just call me Metro OOC
New Willow wrote:I can't stop laughing right now, my sides hurt so much right now! Bravo you have reached the rank of professional comedian.

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Masimino
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Founded: Jul 26, 2014
Ex-Nation

Postby Masimino » Sat Oct 18, 2014 3:10 pm

Another day at the city of Denver. He wakes up to his shack of a house, cursing himself for leaving the legion. But who wouldn't? It was war and carnage, fighting against the Capitalist Monsters, but he couldn't enslaved anyone, nor kill defenseless people. He knew he made the right choice, he wished though it was an easier one. He thought about it, one after another, thinking over and over why was he a war lover if he couldn't kill anyone. He finally stopped thinking, got up, took his rifle and hammer and went scavenging around God knows where.

While scavenging, he saw a group of traders being harassed by a few raiders. He didn't stop to think and later brutally murdered them with his hammer. The traders were thankful and gave him some caps and ammo. Diego looked at it, looking hesitant, but got them in a flash. The traders asked them his name and he said his name is Diego Vargas. The traders eyes opened wide but later slimmed down and then thanking Diego for the assist.

He was walking home when a small squad of Legionnaires came up to him and grabbed him, holding him down. The leader of the squad asked who he was, Diego replied with his real name and later threw (yes, threw) 1 soldier, punched another and kicked another. He fought back furiously like an animal and killed 2 before a gun shot was heard. Diego looked and saw he was shot in the arm, he didn't flinched, but the Leader did when Diego Strangled him but not to death, beat him but only by an inch of his life and later buried him alive, nothing but a refrigerator as his coffin. He looted the soldiers, sold them for caps and supplies, and hunted down the traders. He killed them ruthlessly, burning one, strangling the other, bashing another ones head and finally hitting the rest with his hammer.

He went back home, thinking it was a long day and needed some rest. He slept.

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Ralnis
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Father Knows Best State

Postby Ralnis » Sat Oct 18, 2014 7:07 pm

August 1, 2281
Denver, Colorado
The Chop Shop


The sun rose to see the carrion birds feasting on the hanged up corpses of Hounders as they serve as casualties and warnings to those who stumble upon the Road Spawn's territory. The tribe turned religious raiders that came into the eyes of the Denver Wasteland just years ago are now locked in a brutal war with the Hounders for the ruins of downtown. The tribe had came a long way and are respected and tolerated by the locals. They did not care for they devoted their attention to themselves of following their beliefs of the One True Road and stamping out the Hounders from the area and liberate slaves from Seth's Blood as much as they can, but it seems things are getting more bloody as the day goes by and it seem that one side may make a large advancement to invade the other's territory and try to make a major blow on one another.

Though not everything was grimdark in the Spawn. True Engine, after being cure of the Troglodyte Mutation Condition, was finally getting better but it will take a long time of conditioning and resting before he is able to fight in the front lines with the rest of the Spawn but he must command from the safety of the Chop Shop so that one day he can stamp out the Hounders for once and take over the ruins so that he can finally have peace and rest but of course he conquered one raider tribe, then the Legion will probably take notice and try to " recruit" them for their axillary forces and make them march into the Mojave. Which is something that is always troubling as he struggles to walk and get up without the need of his honor guard helping him along or getting him a crutch for the time for the times the strength leaves him and he has to sit down for a minute or two.

At least today he was able to get to his throne room, which was made by the Spawn as they consider him a king and want to treat him as such though he never did like being a " king" of anything for he did not felt privileged to do so or he has done anything in his life that he would considered noble, but apparently having a group that is known to help people and raid Seth's Blood that gave the Spawn the weapons and resources in order to make sure the Hounder packs don't come burn the Chop Shop down again makes them seem decent in the eyes of locals, but should be avoided nevertheless.

He sat on his throne, which was decorated with various vehicle parts and a musty couch cushion that was older then the entire Spawn ,considering there were no Ghouls in the Spawn to begin with. He then saw the first order of business, a lone scout in leather armor with a scoped hunting rifle and he gave his report," True Engine, it was the Legion, they are sending more scouts and they are getting closer to the Chop Shop but they are far away that they are not knowing are true position, it seems like they are watching or probably scoping the area so we may not be in their path, yet." This has been going on for some time, the Legion scouts have been themselves downtown to try and scope out the war between the Road Spawn and the Hounders and the see as new factions have been popping up across the Denver Wasteland. True Engine had enough things to deal with and the Legion was not something they wanted to avoided as much as possible, but their war has attracted attention in the wasteland, and even though the Legion's numbers are dwindling, they are still a force that is worrisome in the region.

However, they were a small but growing concern but they must focus on the Hounders, for it seems that the small skirmishes were only growing in becoming more bloodier battles and it seemed that True Engine wanted to make an offensive into Hounder territory to scare them off and probably to make them think twice but it can make get closer to the Wolf Pit though the territory of the Hounders is larger then the Spawn and they have more men but the Spawn have better weapons, energy and the sorts, and they have been on the defensive for some time but perhaps they need to pull a offensive attack to shock the local Hounder morale and probably get more raiders to join the Spawn, but they mostly want to take the fight to them for every small attack against the Hounders and Seth's Blood is better for the locals.

True Engine walked into his war room that showed a map of the Denver ruins and loads of drawings that showed markings of Hounders and Seth's Blood raids and skirmishes but they knew it would do little good in expanding their territory and their war against the Hounders as it seem that they are not making any major territorial gains but they have been inflicting casualties against local Hounder Packs, but they knew that had work to do and they aim to try and turn their skirmishes into an offensive strike against the local Hounders and try to gain more of a foothold in the ruins of Denver.
I'm a damn fool, asking me anything is like asking a brick wall the meaning of life. I don't know anything and will never know anything for that is my meaning on this Earth.
Also, to all who roleplay with me. Please understand that I will break the rules, goddmod, complain, break friendships, and will cause nothing but chaos for everyone. So please, if you see me make an app in your RP, reject it automatically and banned me from ever being in that RP. It will be safe for everyone for I am cancer, and cancer must be isolated and destroyed.

Should anyone wish that I am just seeking attention for pity bullshit, you are right. Therefore please don't send any TGs about asking if this a prank, trolling, or anything of the like. Any rationals you come up for my behavior are all true.

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Amn Voss
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Founded: Jul 31, 2008
Ex-Nation

Postby Amn Voss » Sat Oct 18, 2014 11:23 pm

August 1st, 2281
Denver, Colorado
The City of Darwin


"Then the Lord saw that the wickedness of man was great on the earth, and that every intent of the thoughts of his heart was only evil continually. The Lord was sorry that He had made man on the earth, and He was grieved in His heart.," Thaddeus paused, absorbing the hush of silence and quickening breaths across the small room, "The the Lord said, "I will blot out man whom I have created from the face of the land, from man to animals to creeping things and to birds of the sky; for I am sorry that I have made them.""

Mumbled prayers could be heard from the parishioners now, rejuvenated by their most recent revelation from the good book. Thaddeus walked across the room to his makeshift pulpit; ragged papers collecting dust atop a hard-wood frame. He raised his arms and lowered them slowly, attempting to regain the attention of his rather inattentive flock.

"Children be calm for the wrath of the Lord has come and gone and we all know our place in this new world," he turned and walked towards the curtain covering some square object next to the pulpit, "we know we are one with the heart of God for we have His holy word to guide us through these tumultuous times!" Thaddeus grabbed the curtain and threw it up in the air, revealing a cage with some ragged specimen of what was once a human in it. "Children let us pray for the sinners in our midst so that they may find the truth and light of our Lord, for as we were all lost so are they and as we were led home so shall they!"

A cacophony of noise then erupted from the small church. People raised their arms, they prostrated themselves before the stage, cried out in a horrendous roar for God to hear them, all of them united in prayer for the sinners of this world. Thaddeus paced the stage, saying prayers under his breath; he knew full well that this man was nothing more than a beggar taken from outside Darwin's walls by his Crusaders. A drunkard and probably a thief, potentially a drug fiend. It was time though to fuel his fledgling church's passion for the Lord so that more will take up arms in the name of God, and Thaddeus.

"Silence my children and look upon this heathen before me, see the glaze of his look, observe how his very way of life blasphemes against the Lord our God," insults could be heard under the breath of his parishioners, vile slurs being directed at the man before them, "fear not my children as this creature must know his shame, he must know how he has displeased the Lord so that he may know the warm touch of the Lord."

Thaddeus knelt down next to the man, putting his hand on the cage he forced the man to look him in the eyes, "Lost creature, we have brought you here to know the love of God; to know the truth of living your life in his light. Renounce your heathen ways and dedicate your life to the Lord your God!"

The man could barely keep his head up, he was severely malnourished as well as physically and mentally exhausted. He had been in that cage for nearly a week now with only radroach meat and dirty water to eat. What he could muster up enough strength to do was spit on Thaddeus. Wiping the spit off of his face Thaddeus stood up and walked back over to the pulpit.

"Now children we know not all sinners will open their arms and accept God into their life, but we do know that at least we can save their soul from eternal damnation," Thaddeus motioned for one of his crusaders to walk over behind the cage, "now let us all pray together for this lost creatures soul so that he may know the loving embrace of God in the afterlife!"

The congregation began praying together, after several minutes of this the crusader raised his weapon and put the tip at the back of the man's head. Thaddeus whistled and silence fell over the Church and all stared upon the soul they had just saved. A trigger was pulled. A bullet went through the man's head.

"Cursed be he who does the Lords work remissly, cursed he who holds back his sword from blood," Thaddeus steps down from the stage and walks through the aisles of chairs, "the word of God my children, now go forth and spread his wisdom, truth, and light!" Thaddeus walks through the rest of the aisles and opens the double doors leading out into the city of Darwin. Random scavengers walk by, cautiously eying the parishioners leave the church. Thaddeus feels proud of his sermon today, maybe it's time to push for more extreme measures among his congregation. Maybe its time to utilize his crusader for their true purpose.
Last edited by Amn Voss on Sat Oct 18, 2014 11:25 pm, edited 3 times in total.
"So, Lone Star, now you see that evil will always triumph, because good is dumb."
INTP:
67-75-75-33
E L/R: 8.25 | S L/A: -2.10
MC: 40.3,-34 (New Progressive)


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Palonitr and Howland
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Founded: Apr 09, 2014
Ex-Nation

Postby Palonitr and Howland » Sun Oct 19, 2014 7:35 pm

August 1st 2281
Denver, Colorado
Castle de Luca


"Stupid Raiders think they could take my shipments. From my caravans." Anthony thought. He had missed a important contract because of several raiders who had too much Jet and Psycho. They had ambushed his caravan just outside the Colorado State Border with New Mexico. He had lost at least 5000 caps in revenue and his latest shipment of high grade tobacco. Now he had a raider clan to hunt down and exterminate as well as find some other way to make up for loss revenue, not to mention he'd have to smoke scavenged pre-war cigarrettes until another caravan from New Mexico comes back. He'd sent his enforcer Roma to find the raiders but until then he had stayed at home, torturing a raider who belonged to the Sarwig Devils or whatever spiel the raider clan decided to name itself. From what he'd gathered from the glorified Junkie, they had a crew of 20 people, with 5 always out on a raid or patrol. The junkie had died before he could get anymore from the filth. "No matter, Roma will get back soon." Anthony thought.

A few hours later

Roma Lugiano, The De Luca's head enforcer had come back with the head of a raider and the location of the Raider's base. Anthony smiled as he was now going to take his merchandise back and he decided as a punishment and warning to all the raiders in the area. He would slaugther the clan and sell any of their civillians as slaves to the Legion and then cut off all the other raider groups from their Chems for a month. Anthony shared a evil smile with Roma as he geared up and got ready. He was going out to kill the raiders with 10 of his best men. He then mounted his horse and rode out with his men.

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Masimino
Chargé d'Affaires
 
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Founded: Jul 26, 2014
Ex-Nation

Postby Masimino » Mon Oct 20, 2014 5:27 am

Denver, Colorado
Hammer's Shack

Vargas wakes up to a morning filled with headaches and pain. He didn't have the tolerance to do his daily activities which consists of morning exercises and scavenging. But he still scavenged since he knew This was important. He went to some run down police HQ. It was clearly looted, but he thought there could be some worthwhile stuff inside. He went inside through the broken back door of the HQ. It was dirty, ceiling broken, RadRoaches in each room. He cleared out the rooms, taking any valuable things that he could find which included some ammo and canned food that was still edible, but no caps, of course. He went back outside to the sight of some Super Mutants that were hunting for something to eat.

He immediately went back inside, closing the door behind him. He tried to look for a place to ambush the mutants. Diego was hard and strong, some consider him a monster, a ruthless killer. but even Super Mutants weren't supposed to fight head on. He hid behind a gun locker, luckily it was covered and in good condition. He thought to himself about bringing this one home when a Mutant came in. He smelled the air, looked around as if there was an intruder. Maybe there was, maybe there wasn't. The Mutant then lost interest and shrugged, going inside with the other close by. He was sweating, nervous, he killed a few back then but it wasn't in this situation. He had good equipment and more ammo. The Mutants were packed with hunting rifles and nail boards.

He slowly opened the gun locker's door. He looked around, he needed to know the mutants were gone, and they were. He tried going for the door, crouching and trying to be vigilant. A mutant later appeared in the hallway and spotted Vargas. He opened fire and Vargas dodged in time. He was taking fire under a desk, while the mutants were firing slowly in his position. Their rifles were bolt action but strong with each shot. He had an assault rifle and some ammo. He looked at his Rifle, said something in Spanish then unleashed hell on the mutants. It was an action movie, bullets flying and mutants blood and body parts everywhere. He almost finished his ammo, but luckily he didn't. He looted the mutants, brought the gun locker home with his strength. He put the locker inside his shack and said to himself "I better find a bigger home, quick." All the while lying on his bed, falling asleep while reminiscing what happened today.

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Neo-Assyrian Empire
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Posts: 9514
Founded: Feb 05, 2013
Ex-Nation

Postby Neo-Assyrian Empire » Mon Oct 20, 2014 6:58 am

Franklin's Shack
Franklin sat on his porch, looking over the hills and watched the city. With his Super Sledge, Vigilance, at his side, he was not worried about anything. Well, at least not today. A small radio played while Franklin enjoyed himself. "Aaaaaaand maybe, I will say, maybe...." As a new song began to play, a gunshot echoed in the distance. Franklin ignored it, since it was common for such a thing to happen. Then a second shot went off, and Franklin's radio fell off the porch and stopped playing music.

"Ach," he though, "Raiders." He picked up Vigilance and ducked into his shack, trying to spot the gunman. He slowly looked out of his window when a bullet went through it. Franklin still stayed silent and out of sight. He looked out of the window again and spotted a black silhouette on top of the hill overlooking his house.

Without hesitation, the mutant began to run towards the raider, who was still trying to kill Franklin. As the mutant got closer and closer, the raider fired off one last shot before retreating. However, he was too slow. Franklin raised Vigilance and knocked the raider to the ground. He then struck the human with a finishing blow.

With this, Franklin looked around, trying to find where the others were. He knew that raiders normally travel in packs, and this would be no different. When he did not spot anyone, Franklin looked down at the body. The man wore normal clothing, which was strange for a raider. The mutant looted the cadaver, then buried it in a shallow grave.

Once back at the shack, and after retrieving the broken radio, Franklin began to sort through his loot. It was nothing spectacular, just a handful of caps and some ammunition for an old hunting rifle. But there was one thing that was different. There was a small piece of paper

Ave Lucas,
Find and kill the mutant known as Franklin. He has been attempting to hinder our causes in Denver and we would like you to put an end to it. There will be a large sum of caps once you return. Last time we've checked, he lives in the mountains around Denver.

True to C-es--


The name at the bottom was torn off.

At this moment, Franklin realized that his life as a quiet wastelander was about to end, now that the Legion was after him.
Account may or may not be alive or dead. We'll see what happens
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<G> Is the national currency. <G> 1 = $1.6
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Transoxthraxia
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Posts: 22004
Founded: Jan 19, 2013
Benevolent Dictatorship

Postby Transoxthraxia » Mon Oct 20, 2014 7:35 pm

The Whispers. They had come back. Or had they never really left? The Whispers were everywhere, the Prophet decided, within every gust of wind, behind every rock, embedded in each and every grain of sand that the miserable feet of any who still tread this damned plane of existence witnessed on a daily basis. No, it'd be impossible for them to be anything else. The Whispers were what had saved her, the Whispers were what had allowed her to come to the devastating truth about the horrid actuality of the Prophet and the twisted, mislead wretches and cretins who still inhabit this damned stratum of being.

The message shall be let out.




One boot, and then the other. One boot, and then the other. Nogagl'ai, gnaiih geb, fm'latgh. The Whispers always spoke in tongues, but strangely, the Prophet knew what they meant. One boot, and then the other. She had walked from the former state of California all the way to Denver, the Mojave and everything else in between extremely unforgiving. But she had been drawn to Denver. She knew that it was the Old Ones calling her, she knew. But she didn't know why. As she approached the former city, she had been blessed with an answer as she watched her last companion die, face down in the blasted dirt.

The Father is here. It came to her in a revelation, as if a sudden tidal wave of reason had come over her. The Father is a liar. Her dark voice said, reverberating inside her as if a massive cathedral's bell had been rung right next to her ear. Hlirgh mnahn' hafh'drn, they had called him. Gritting her teeth, the Prophet said to herself, "His lies are his condemnation. I must speak with this so-called Holy Man." Walking still, one boot in front of the other, she then closed her eyes for just a moment. As she opened them again, she was on a small rise overlooking the boom-town of Denver.

To call it that would be a hyperbole. What was left of the old city was a shithole, little more than a piece of territory squabbled over by the Legion, the tattered Enclave, and some unimportant local schmucks who had nothing better to do than to attempt to carve out a life of political and criminal success. None of that mattered. She thought to herself, as she started off again towards the town. As the sun was just rising over the distant peaks, the Prophet, in all of her odd glory, entered the town, getting many strange looks along the way. She looked roughed-up enough to be any raider, or scavenger, for that matter. But she held a different, holier-than-thou, reserved demeanor that was saved only for the most intelligent and "together" people. Or perhaps quite the opposite. Her deep blue hair and eyes seemed to unnerve a great deal of people. Hair dye was unheard of at this point in time, unless someone would like to try their luck with lead paint.

Most of the buildings were lean-tos, at least in this part of the town. She knew this town to be Darwin. She couldn't quite recall how she knew that, however. Walking among the poor, dirty, and most likely dumb characters that she had witnessed within the town, she was pining for people, two types, actually. The first; potential converts and conduits of her and her God's will, and the second; the Father. After walking through a large part of the town, she finally came upon what was unmistakably a Church. She was never raised religious, how could she have been? Her parents barely scratched out a living as is, they had no time for the False God. She noted that the doors were opening, and those inside were in the process of leaving. Perfect timing, it had seemed.

Talking a timely walk up to the structure, she got there just as the Father was leaving. He appeared conflicted, focused upon an idea within his head. She approached the old man, and in the time that it took him to register that she was awaiting him, she analyzed him. He was older; he wouldn't have been considered old by pre-war standards, but his silvery beard, crow-eyes, and early signs of wrinkles betrayed his age. His eyes, however, were a different story. Despite being rather unfocused, as the Father was thinking to himself at the moment, they were full of fire, fight, and fervour. A zealous soul in a broken body. She then spoke, hoping to snap the Father out of his inner thoughts. "You are... The Father for this... Congregation, I can presume?" She asked in a cold, unfeeling tone, her voice sounding like waves pounding against the rocks of a thousand years. Her deep blue eyes met his, trying to analyze exactly what he was thinking.
Where must we go, we who wander this wasteland, in search for our better selves?
In Egypt's sandy silence, all alone,
Stands a gigantic Leg, which far off throws
The only shadow that the Desert knows:—
"I am great OZYMANDIAS," saith the stone,
"The King of Kings; this mighty City shows
"The wonders of my hand." The City's gone,
Nought but the Leg remaining to disclose
The site of this forgotten Babylon.

We wonder, and some Hunter may express
Wonder like ours, when thro' the wilderness
Where London stood, holding the Wolf in chace,
He meets some fragment huge, and stops to guess
What powerful but unrecorded race
Once dwelt in that annihilated place.
The Nuclear Fist wrote:Transoxthraxia confirmed for shit taste

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Das Metro
Senator
 
Posts: 4500
Founded: Sep 26, 2013
Ex-Nation

Postby Das Metro » Mon Oct 20, 2014 9:46 pm

There was a small clatter from the rebar and concrete gates of Darwin as the posted guards opened fire. A staccato of shots broke the quiet of the still morning, and there were some hoots and hollers from the gates. The guards looked down at the messy, trash strewn ground, and they could still see the outline of several darkly dressed figures among the ruins. Those weren't refugee's they were shooting at.

The figures raced out from cover, and the guards caught a glimpse of who they belonged to before they were in new positions. They were all dressed in uniform light, black body armor that hugged the frame, creating a second layer of skin. Scouts from Seth's Brood, if their messy, faded black and grey cloaks indicated anything.

There was a sudden flash from within the ruins, and the guards opened fire again. The figure yelped and fell, over, nursing his side. That seemed to be enough to scare off the others. Like cockroaches, six other cloaked figures dashed out of cover, and disappeared in the industrial skeleton of a collapsed building. The wounded Brood Scout remained writhing on the ground, and with devious grins plastered on their normally stoic faces, a trio of guards made their way down to their scout. "Got one of Seth's boys!" One guard called out, and was met with a small chorus of cheers from the awoken populace of Darwin.

The scout was still in the same position as the guards approached. Elated, the guard who had shouted sped down to check on the fallen scout, to be met with unexpected results. Nursing his wound with one hand, the scout had a compact plasma weapon in the other, a 'Defender' from the look of it. The guard had little time to shout when his face was consumed by a bolt of green plasma.

The air crackled, and smelt pf burning flesh as the guard fell over. His face was glassy, and looked as though a bucket of acid has been poured over his countenance. The scout laughed through the pain as the two other guards ran for cover.
Just call me Metro OOC
New Willow wrote:I can't stop laughing right now, my sides hurt so much right now! Bravo you have reached the rank of professional comedian.

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Palonitr and Howland
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Posts: 1589
Founded: Apr 09, 2014
Ex-Nation

Postby Palonitr and Howland » Tue Oct 21, 2014 8:28 am

Somewhere near the New Mexico state border, Colorado

Roma had led them to a secluded valley devoid of life. How a person could live here, raider or not, it was amazing. They had encountered the raider clan's patrol earlier and simply eliminated them by feeding them to a nearby Yao Guai family. It was safe to say that the Yao Guai were full now. Anthony considered having a personal pet Yao Guai or a Deathclaw. He's heard of people in the Capital Wasteland being able to control Deathclaws. He'd have to have to get a coue of boys to get him the tech needed for that he really wanted a interesting pet.

Several more hours of riding had led them to the dead foot hills of the valley where upon ober the hill lay the Raider home base. They at this point had unholstered their weapons and Anthony had his Shotgun ready. A sick smile grew on Anthony and his men as they heard celebratory sounds. The raiders were fools and their people would pay for their insolence.

As they readied their assault, the Raider tribe had become seemingly more drunk, making it easier for him and his men. They all pulled the pins of a grenade each and then threw it over the wall. Then 10 successive bangs later, the De Luca men jump over the wall and start aiming for the armed raiders while subduing the civilians. Anthony himself had blown a disoriented raider apart. Soon enough, he had the Raider Leader. The entire battle had been quick and bloodless, at least for his side, 15 dead raiders and 30 captured tribals. He then noticed the only reason why there was a raider tribe living here, a massive well of what seemed like pure water or at least the least irradiated water Anthon had seen. He immediately got 3 of his men to start escorting the captured prisoners back to Castle De Luca where once they reached there, they would recruit more people as associates and bring them to the Raider Compound. The compound would be turned as a outpost, it wpuld be a stop over for caravans and the water could be packaged and sold. Water was a commodity and even more so for clean water. He asked his men to then search the compound for loot. Suprisingly, he found his box of Cigars." Good stuff》he said to no one in particularas he lit one and smoked it.

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Amn Voss
Diplomat
 
Posts: 582
Founded: Jul 31, 2008
Ex-Nation

Postby Amn Voss » Tue Oct 21, 2014 11:04 am

With the service over and the last of his parishioners returning to their hovels Thaddeus breathed deep. His chief crusader, Gabriel, closed the double doors to the church and locked them shut. Thaddeus was deep in thought, the gunshots could be heard from beyond Darwin's walls, no doubt some rabble decided it was a good idea to attack a bunch of ingrates with guns and itchy trigger fingers. He was attempting to figure out how to conduct his long sought after raid of Denver's great cathedral.The religious trappings of the place would greatly influence the more stubborn citizens of Darwin to join his budding congregation.

Transoxthraxia wrote:"You are... The Father for this... Congregation, I can presume?"


Thaddeus was somewhat startled by the light voice coming from his side. He turned to see a small girl, with vividly colorful hair and piercing blue eyes next to him. He muttered under his breath, barely a hushed mumble, "spare the rod, spoil the child," and at first glance she looked nothing more than a child, but upon further inspection she was clearly in her mid-to-late twenties. After absorbing her features for a long second he finally responded.

"Yes, child, in a way I am the Father of this congregation," subconsciously Thaddeus shifted his body so to stand over her, asserting a form of physical dominance, "Though I go by the title Reverend. My name is Thaddeus Dale and this is the Church of the Redemption, child."

His voice was deep and confident, a slight hint of fatherly concern crept out though. Though he also sounded slightly demeaning, thinking this girl was nothing more than some orphaned raiders child. Gabriel had finished securing the church and walked over to Thaddeus, bowing slightly and exchanging the keys. "Reverend, she's locked up tight. Shall I collect Michael and Uriel for the mission?" The mission he was referencing to was a covert meeting a traitorous Hounder who had a map of Denver, and the coveted cathedral. An abandoned gas station a few miles west of Darwin was the agreed upon meeting point, right next to a small Legion encampment. Nothing to be worried about though, all they had stationed were a few scouts and mongrels and the location was ideal because the scavengers gutted the station years ago and no one from Darwin dares travel that close to the Legion. "Yes, my son, inform your brothers of their task and we meet at sundown. Gabriel bowed again and set off. Thaddeus looked back to the girl before him.

"Now, how can the Church of the Redemption be of service to you, child?"
Last edited by Amn Voss on Tue Oct 21, 2014 11:25 am, edited 5 times in total.
"So, Lone Star, now you see that evil will always triumph, because good is dumb."
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Transoxthraxia
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Posts: 22004
Founded: Jan 19, 2013
Benevolent Dictatorship

Postby Transoxthraxia » Wed Oct 22, 2014 11:19 am

He IS. The Whispers said, causing a pounding in the woman's head. She could tell, or, more accurately, the Whispers told her, that he was attempted to assert dominance over her by his physical positioning. She looked at him with a somewhat feigned disinterest, attempting to gauge his attitude. He was outwardly patient and understanding, but she knew, or, more correctly, was told that he was a threat to her and her mission. But even in a town as disgusting, filthy, and dilapidated as this one, you couldn't shoot a man down in the street, especially not one of such stature. She overheard some discussion regarding a mission, and closed her eyes to listen and commit what they said to memory, but what words that were exchanged were cryptic.

By the way he spoke she could tell that he was a man who naturally, perhaps even innately, patronized those that he had looked down upon. Of course, in her present, and usually constant appearance, she frequently looked as if she was the victim of the wastes. However, little did the Father know, but she wasn't the victim of the wastes, she was the waste's child. Speaking of, as she prepared to respond to his question, something reminded her deep in her stomach. That patronizing term, child. She felt as if his terminology was a taunt, even if it wasn't. An anger rose up inside her, and she began to speak. "I am no child of yours..." she said, in a relatively hostile voice. But before she could continue, her calmer, more diplomatic side took over. "Yet." What am I doing? She asked herself, inwardly.

"I have traveled far, across the wastes and the Mojave, and braved many dangers. There are many here, and even there, who speak of the Father of the Denver Congregation." She lied. "I wish to learn of you, learn from you, and become a member of your congregation." She said. More accurately, she didn't say this. Her brain tried to stop the words from her mouth, but they couldn't stop. They wouldn't stop. The Whispers ahd taken control of her. "I have many questions about the faith. And many more about your Demons."
Where must we go, we who wander this wasteland, in search for our better selves?
In Egypt's sandy silence, all alone,
Stands a gigantic Leg, which far off throws
The only shadow that the Desert knows:—
"I am great OZYMANDIAS," saith the stone,
"The King of Kings; this mighty City shows
"The wonders of my hand." The City's gone,
Nought but the Leg remaining to disclose
The site of this forgotten Babylon.

We wonder, and some Hunter may express
Wonder like ours, when thro' the wilderness
Where London stood, holding the Wolf in chace,
He meets some fragment huge, and stops to guess
What powerful but unrecorded race
Once dwelt in that annihilated place.
The Nuclear Fist wrote:Transoxthraxia confirmed for shit taste


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