War. War never changes...
When nuclear fire rained from the sky, a lucky few took shelter in great underground vaults. When they emerged, they banded together to face the harsh conditions of their new home... the wasteland. Some formed democratic societies, like the New California Republic...
Others, such as the men and women of New Canaan, turned to religion...
Or, more accurately, never turned away. In such dark times faith is a hard thing to hold onto, leaving many of the religions of the old world to die with old nations. Of course, pockets or mutated forms of these old faiths still exist, but the pure forms died long ago.
The only real exception has been, oddly enough, the Mormon Church. Saved by Vault 70 in Salt Lake City the church would continue underground as the world above perished in flames.
Luckily enough for the Mormons (depending on who you might ask), the social experiment of this vault was benign enough. After scant few months of living in the vault the jumpsuit extruder systems would fail. The resulting shortage of clothing made life in the vault a bit strenuous for the religious and moral members of the church, but made the experiment all the more interesting in terms of data gathered. That is, if there was anyone left from Vault Tech who even cared.
Time passed, and after a hundred and more years, the vault doors opened. The Mormons departed the Vault over time, and built a new city in the ruins of Salt Lake with the help of their three G.E.C.K.s. And thus, the New Jerusalem was born.
They did, however, make a critical error while running their new town. An early decision among church elders and the living prophet lead to New Jerusalem cutting itself off from the wastes, voting to have no commerce with the outside world. This ended poorly, with the gates of New Jerusalem being broken through by angry tribals and neighbors who demanded a share of the prosperity of the town.
Survivors fled, and New Canaan was founded on the other side of the Great Salt Lake. The town’s population would struggle to survive, but survive it did. It even opened up its doors for trade and hospitality upon orders of their new Living Prophet.
But again, nothing good lasts forever in the wastelands. The prodigal son, Joshua Graham, upon his return to New Canaan would bring the Legion hot on his heels. Tribals sacked the town and the remaining Mormons scattered. Towns of the remnants sprouted up, but so great was Caesar’s wrath that he ordered his men and the tribals to hunt down as many of the Mormons, or New Canaanites as they were now known, as they could.
Many died, and the survivors fled further and further west.
Some would find sanctuary with tribals such as the Dead Horses and the Sorrows, and many fled into the NCR.
Now, decades after the death of Caesar the Mormons feel it is time to return home to New Jerusalem. The remaining Elders and newly appointed Living Prophet have reached out to the NCR for help in reclaiming their home, in exchange for being either an ally or a full state of the new Republic.
While the NCR is unwilling to send troops so far out of their territory, the extant expedition proved a good excuse to send at least some up, including ones who were... more expendable.
And so, Ferrous Company was contracted by the NCR to not only explore the East, but help the new Canaanites reclaim their home on the way.
While the future of the Mormon Church in this new world is still uncertain, the one constant is that
War. War never changes...
Edgar Ferrous
Expedition Staging Area, The Hub
The Hub was always a cacophony of noise nowadays. With a population in the thousands, or somewhere in that area, the Hub was increasingly populated and dense. The city sprawl had grown over the centuries of its existence, and it was by far the most populated and largest city of the NCR. You could even attest to how much it had changed, given the ghoul residents of the city had seen its transformation. Edgar himself had seen much of its later stages, as proper multi-story buildings started showing up in the city center, and wooden billboards advertising the newest companies and trendiest items to buy.
Just like good, old America, or at least how Edgar remembered it.
The old ghoul grumbled, glancing down at the slightly termite chewed clipboard in his equally rotten hand. The lack of skin was something he’d never quite get used to. Necrotic flesh was a ghoul’s hallmark, but it didn’t mean they had to like it. Especially considering none of the other humans here seemed to be able to tolerate it.
He was a businessman, however, and had work to do. Mostly making sure the expedition had everything they needed. Food was already packed in the ice boxes, as was enough water for their leg to The Vegas Strip. A few extra guns for their guards. The ones not hired as ‘experts’, but those accompanying them until their first real stopping spot in New Canaan to help the settlers. Pretty much a group of old soldiers from the Legion conflicts looking for a simpler job, or a new start far away from the rest of the Republic. Either way, their supplies were looking in order.
They’d been given a couple of refurbished trucks, Pre-war army issue recovered from Mariposa and fitted to work a fusion core or six to power it. Rather slow, by what Ferrous could reckon. Maybe twenty miles an hour. Luckily the fastest a Brahmin could go and keep walking all day was rather slow, and same with their other steeds and pack animals. Though for the ‘experts’ Edgar Ferrous had hired, he had something special, right from the NCR’s military. Some fixed up jeeps, something from pre-war as well that could drive and go off-road much easier than the trucks. Some of their steeds could potentially be better for that, but didn’t have the carrying capacity for something like power armor or a Mutant.
Since the end of the legion war, the NCR had discovered that the reason the Legion could administrate their vast lands was something simple: Horses. Unlike other things like radstags and Brahmin, radsteeds as they were now called, a good portion of the horse’s coat survived, though the fur tended to be a bit patchier than it was before, along with the creatures having a slight glow to them now.
With the war over, NCR efforts had brought enough horses west to make travel between towns easier. But to Edgar it was another thing to get used to. The damned things were loud, annoying, and defecated just about everywhere. But he couldn’t deny it made business better than ever.
So, in all their Edgar reckoned their little expedition had the trucks, jeeps, a few dozen brahmin, a few radsteeds, and enough supplies between the trucks and the pack animals to carry them through vegas up to the ruins of New Jerusalem and New Canaan.
Things were certainly looking up! Speaking of that, the ghoul grunted to the employee standing next to him, a smoothskin named Jeremy. “Jeremy, take a final look over the cargo, make sure the government didn’t try to skimp us on supplies. Don’t want to starve halfway past Vegas, none of you lot will see my ugly mug around anyway, and I plan on surviving this trip.”
“Fine sir, just don’t get lost on your way home.” The kid replied, a slight bit derisively. Probably didn’t expect him to come back at all, let alone make the trip. Few in the NCR did. Hell, Ferrous had even heard that there was quite a bit of betting going on over how far they would make it, or if they’d die before they got past the Legion. That sort of stuff.
“I don’t plan to, sonny.” The ghoul stated, matter-of-factly. He handed the clipboard over before standing up from the spot he’d been sitting with a bit of a creakiness to his bones. After a moment of stretching, the ancient ghoul strode off towards the pub, he’d ordered the people he had hired to go to meet him, the Brahmin's Head. A fine little establishment that allowed people of any background, even before the non-discrimination laws of the last few decades. Old pre-war sort of style inside, complete with waiters and waitresses who went around on rollerblades, for whatever damned reason.
Edgar really didn't get why they'd do a silly thing like that. Workplace accidents must be horrendous!
As Edgar approached the pub, he thought about the group he'd hired. Such a motley crew, to be certain. But few others had applied. With how nice things were getting in the NCR fewer people wanted to do the daring and adventure of the old times. So he had pulled together the equivalence of drifters and grit of society. Whatever, it would make the trip interesting to say the least.
He had yet to really interview any of these in person either. But who could be bothered with minor details like that when the journey of a lifetime was before them all. By this time tomorrow, they would be on the way. Hell, in a few hours they were slated to set off, just after dinner time. This was the group of people who would be in it for the long haul, the whole horse, from sea to shining sea. A bit of bonding time would do them good. No point going on an empty stomach, either.
Hopefully they didn’t kill each other before they even got their foot out the door.
