Fallout Rebirth: Work Conquers All IC OPEN

[Kelmet]

Fallout Rebirth: Work Conquers All

It has been nearly forty years since the great Enclave-Legion War tore the interior of the North American Wasteland apart, vast armies the size of legends warred against one another before both ultimately collapsed, Now only small legionnaire remnant states remain to the west and the enclave have disappeared once again there vast effort to reclaim America a failure. In the ashes of this conflict two great powers have emerged. The Atomic Empire, a land ruled by The Council of high confessors, lead by the Arch-confessor Emit Bormio dominates Texas and select lands around it converting and enslaving all in there path. In the far north the Khanate, ruled by Genghis is on course to forge the largest empire since the height of Cesar. Since the second atomic fires burned at the end of the Enclave-legion war one thing remains known in the year 2400, war...war never changes.

The lands of Oklahoma, viewed as a backwater even when it was a province of the legion is a harsh land even compared to the wasteland in general. Radioactive dust storms, irradiated lakes and rivers and raiders of every variety. This is the crucible that your people inhabit, are you a tribe? Reclaiming their independence since the fall of the Legion? Or are you a city state, Seeking to carve out a nation of your own? The choice is yours.

OP- Kelmet
Co-OP -The Commonwealth of Syndic Australia
OP's role in this RP

In this RP I will be acting as any NPC's you encounter, I will also be writing random events for good or ill to your faction. And handling the over all story progression of the RP.

If 2 player nations battle and can't decide on a winner and loser they will approach me for a decision, which will be finale.

MAP

https://i.imgur.com/WT9fPft.jpeg

OOC Link
https://forum.nationstates.net/viewtopic.php?f=31&t=500224

[Xifix]

It was a cold, dreary morning in January for Nika. A shivering breeze occasionally whooshed through the walled civilization of the Yaka, carrying dust, dirt, and snow wherever it gone. So it was no surprise when everyone outfitted themselves in scarfs and, most importantly, wool-lined jackets, gloves, and peakless caps.

Despite this, Nika climbed out of her home with a flintlock rifle slung on her back. She was on guard and patrol duty, as the morning shift was a responsibility shared by no more than 500 Yakans. Trudging on the rooftops for a while, she eventually made her way down, where she found herself in a barren wintery landscape.

As she left the mound of buildings behind her, Nika couldn't help but glance to her left. The gardens and crops have all been completely buried in snow and ice, though the sheep and chickens were fortunate to be cooped up in the large barns throughout the walled community. Glancing to her right, there was one side of the walls.

Constructed through a combination of mudbrick and concrete blocks compiled into a cobblestone pattern with a dirt, sand, and gravel filling (plus a sheet metal lining in between them), the Yakan walls were a simple and surprisingly clean structure in the post-apocalyptic wastelands. It had survived the test of time and two massive invasions, standing as a testament of Yakan engineering and simplicity. There was no way in or out of the walls ... except by ladder.

Up ahead, there were five other Yakans climbing up a ladder near the northern section. There were four males (two boys and two adults) and an adult female, with the men climbing first while the other temporarily stayed behind. It wasn't long until Nika's presence was noticed, however, as the two boys turned and waved.

"ANYAN'NIKAKANREN" The boys humbly greeted the 30-something-year-old woman.

"ANYAN'KANREN" Nika acknowledged warmly, with the other woman waving back equally.

"A~! NIKAKANREN" One of the two men chirped up above, "KAREK'NIR'HANKA"

"KARAK"

"ANYANANYAN" The other woman nodded curtly before climbing up the ladder, "KAREKAN?"

"KARAKAN KARAKAN" Nika confirmed before she climbed up onto the wall.

Not long after, the two boys followed as well, and when they got to the top, Nika was the first to lift the first boy, while the other woman assisted the other. Before they departed each other, the other woman called to Nika, "NIKA?"

"KAI?"

"WANAREK'YENKANREN?"

"WANARAK"

Exchanging a grateful smile, Kai turned rightward with the other boy and walked alongside the other man. In the meantime, Nika turned leftward and walked alongside Kai's husband and their other child. This morning was going to be a busy morning...

[Beutarch]

---

A small group of Legionaries marched down the ruins of Route 66. Dressed in crimson-dyed light armor, short swords and pistols mounted at their hips, they made little effort to conceal their presence. Most other bands of tribals would avoid the main roads like the plague, but these soldiers were protected by the bloody reputation of the uniforms they wore. Though their reach was ever limited, any who opposed the will of the Legion was put to the sword, just as in 2282, just as in 52 BC. The tribals of western Oklahoma knew of that reputation well, and made no attempt to stop the Cervii as they headed on their way. The officer at the head of the column understood this as well. He also understood that his men were being watched.

The road on which they were walking crisscrossed through the territories of a half dozen minor tribes, each carefully surveilling the Cervii as they stomped down the cracked path. The officer did not know how many were out there, only seeing glimpses of mud-smeared faces looking up from ditches, or the vocalizations of some corrupted language in the distance. At length, he could make out the shape of a windmill poking out above a thicket of trees. He signaled his men to head toward it, leaving the main road. As they neared, he heard a cry from one of the trees. The barrels of long guns poked through leaves. The same shrill voice called out, this time directed at the oncoming soldiers. The officer held up his fist for the men to stop. The unit consisted of 8 Legionaries, including the officer, and two slaves. The officer turned to gauge to slaves' reactions.

"They want to know what we want," offered one of the slaves.

"They know damn well what we want," growled the officer.

"They do."

"Then remind them."

The slave moved to the front of the group, explaining their intentions to the riflemen above them. The strange dialect being spoken around him disturbed the officer more than he would care to admit, the words sounded so similar and yet infuriatingly undecipherable. He could take an informed guess at what the slave was saying, however. Several days before, when the officer was still laying in bed in the Camp, a traveling merchant claimed that an Atomite missionary had crossed the border and was taking up residence in the tribe that the officer was now just outside of. The Stag's policy toward Atomites was well known: they were to be mounted upon a cross. He shared the same fear as his father, that the religion would take hold in the spiritually weak Camp. The Legion's faith, the old Cult of Mars, exists now only as a shell of its former self. Having nearly no popular appeal, its adherents are largely the Camp's elite, who give offerings only to demonstrate their loyalty to the state. Thus, the Stag vowed to fix one of his greatest weaknesses with one of his greatest strengths, the sword.

"Those of the Texolan Tribe wish to talk."

"They are stalling..."

"They are."

The officer swore. He directed the squad's sharpshooter to return to the road, where he would be able to keep watch over the north and east sides of the copse, and two other men opposite that position so they would have a commanding view over the south and west sides. Having doled out orders, the officer began to undo the straps on his headgear, pushing down the bandana from his face and letting his goggles fall down to his neck. His face exposed, he placed the helmet under his left arm and walked toward the small forest with his remaining men.

---

Escorted past neat rows of tatos and mutfruit, the soldiers were led to a stone fire ring in the center of the tribe's domain, surrounded by small dwellings that served as residences. At the far end of the fire pit was a person whom the officer, judging by the way the other tribals acted, thought was some sort of elder. It was, of course, impossible to determine whether or not the person was actually an old man or woman behind the mask. Adorned with white-painted runes and spiked with sharp metal protrusions, the figure stoking the fire looked more like some sort of fanciful animal than a human. Steeling himself, the officer took a seat atop one of the stumps arrayed around the pit. The translator-slave took a knee at his right side, and his remaining men stood in a neat line behind him. As soon as the officer had settled on the organic chair, the being started speaking. The slave struggled to keep up with the flow of words that were muffled by the ritual mask.

< We desire a reward for the fugitive preacher. My sons apprehended him, it is only right that they are compensated for a successful hunt. >

"First, I must inspect the Atomite with my own eyes. Then, a finder's fee can be arranged."

< The preacher is unharmed, I assure you. He will be paraded around your Camp and your Stag as soon as we receive this ... finder's fee. >

"I care little for the well-being of an Atomite spy, bring him before me at once, or there will be no reward at all."

The chieftain shifted uncomfortably, leaning back to whisper in the ear of one of it's men. The other tribals reflected their leader's unease, hands reaching for weapons and eyes scanning for targets. The officer had enough, stood up and threw down his helmet. He placed one hand on the pommel of his gladius and used the other to point an accusatory finger at the masked being across the fire.

"Show him to me at once, profligate!"

Even before the slave had translated, the tribals felt the impact of his words. Guns were aimed at the officer's head, and his own men began to unholster their pistols. The chief bore a look of panic, visible even through the small eye-slits in its mask. Its hands reached out to grab the barrels of the two guns nearest, forcing them to point down. The other tribals kept their sights on the Legionaries, but held their fire as the slave nervously attempted to put a more diplomatic spin on the officer's last sentence. After a long pause, the elder spoke:

< I cannot bring him to you becau-

The slave's translation was cut short by a gunshot.

Accompanied by the echoing boom of a long rifle, the officer knew none of his men had fired first. He whirled his head around to assess the condition of his men, as the chief urged his own fighters to stay calm. They were all unhurt, as were the chief's. A moment later, a shout of, "ECCE!" rang out from the direction the soldiers had came. The officer was irked by Latin for the same reasons he disliked the tribal dialects, but he understood the phrase that was just spoken: behold, look or see. The favorite expression of his squad's sharpshooter. The officer pushed past the tribals, running out of the thicket of trees. At once he saw the sharpshooter descending the hill from the Route, and also a crumpled body sprawled on the field ahead of him. After reaching the body, it became clear that the legionary's round had pierced the fugitive's unholy rags in the upper thigh, reducing the man to a crawling wreck. The legionaries that followed the officer fell upon the man, binding his hands and foisting him upon the slaves to carry. The tribals watched from the tree line, unwilling to leave now that their deception had been realized. The distinctive silhouette of the chief walked a few steps past the shadows of the trees, pausing to toss the officer's feathered helmet towards the group of legionaries. With that, the tribals melted back into the wood.

[Crimetopolis]

The boy pushed the cart towards Atomic Trooper Territory. It was loaded with tools, supplies, and a cat in a carrier. A small dog walked with him. He had heard the radio broadcasts from Norman, Oklahoma. He kept a rebuilt laser carbine he had found. It was in an abandoned energy weapons store. All the plasma and lightning related pistols and rifles had been looted out.

However, in a closet, he'd found a Telefunken brand laser pistol, a rebuild kit, and a carbine conversion kit, along with 200 charged fusion cells and a solar fusion cell recharger. All were in brand new condition. He pulled out his portable work bench. He carefully converted it in a laser carbine. It had a Troy Industries folding rear SOCC sight. The front sight was a PRI Hooded sight with a Blitzkrieg components LLC luminescent green triangle front sight post replacement.

He saw Norman, Oklahoma in the near distance. "Good. Work is there." Suddenly, Pee-Wee began barking like crazy and M&M began meowing loudly. He unslung his laser carbine. HISSS! The attacker was a giant rattle cobra! It reared back and unfolded its hood. Its buzzed as its venom-laden mouth opened. Jaxon Carter aimed carefully at the creature's center mass. PEW! A Tennis ball-sized hole exploded in the creature's neck. SKREEE! It shrieked and recoiled.

Had the attacker been a giant rad-scorpion, and it would be bleeding to death already. But Rattle-Cobras were much harder to kill. It sprayed venom that fell short of it mark. PEW! PEW! PEW! PEW! PEW! PEW! PEW! PEW! PEW! THUD! It was dead. He secured the carbine.

A 4wheeler buzzed up. "ATOMIC TROOPER FEDERAL POLICE!" The woman yelled. She wore a Barney Fife-pattern uniform and had a Marlin 1894 .44-40 lever action rifle in hand as she dismounted. Around her waist was belted an H&K P7M13 9mm pistol. "Relax". she smiled. "You're getting a thousand caps bounty once you hit Norman." She radioed it in.

The lady cop made friends with Pee Wee instantly. She smiled as as Jaxon gave water to him and M&M both, The leather from the snake, and the rest of the stuff were loaded on the truck. The cart was loaded. too. Jaxon, Pee Wee, and M&M rode, also. A new life awaited them.

[Syndic Australia]

A lone figure is silhouetted by the setting sun, standing and surveying through the pane-window on the concrete-shell 13th floor of the Turner Tower, stogie smoldering in hand. From somewhere above or below, the township's radio station managed to echo its way onto the floor.

The ramshackle township below bustled with afternoon activity - scavengers returning to town, hauling brahmin encumbered with all manner of salvage, and open-air vendors hawking dinner, drinks, and other delights to townsfolk and travellers alike - as the streets began to light up with all manner of jury-rigged daisy-chains of lightbulbs and flickering neons. Looking beyond the well-guarded walls the figure could spot trails of smoke wisping from far out west, shadowy spirals in the setting sun - tribals, caravans, legionaries, any and all of the above, most likely and always far too close for comfort. Heavy clouds too - dust storms, tornadoes, hail, rad storms even, could strike the Prarie at a moment's notice. Taking an exasperated drag of his stogie, the figure paced a little further around the circumference of the floor, to the northern curve of the building. No signs of life could be seen emitting from the Hefner Fens a little further to the north-west, as to be expected - the real danger there lay beneath the mud and marsh. Stepping through a crumbling gape in the wall, the figure continued his round of the tower. Far and further into the distance to the northeast, little pinpricks of light dotted the length of Route 66, the lifeline of trade for much of Oklahoma. It'd been years since he'd wandered his way along the route; those old caravaning days, as far afield as St. Louis, were a lifetime behind him now. Surveying the east with a saunter, nothing seemed untoward - the tribes to the east were largely peaceable, and far more civilised than most of what rolled in from the west on any given day. The silhouette stopped for a moment facing south, towards downtown. The window here was shattered in some places, all the more better for a clearer view sans the grunge and fallout coalesced on any and all surfaces in the decrepit tower. The skyscrapers of downtown lied - they stood dark and silent but, in reality, they hid a teeming wilderness all its own, far more dangerous than anywhere else as far as the horizon.

Floyd, taking one last drag, discarded what was left of his stogie underfoot. Every day he made his rounds up on the 13th floor - the only floor without so many pesky walls to get in the way of a pensive patrol, as it was under renovation when the bombs dropped - and every day now it seemed the horizon remained unchanged, as if it were merely painted on to the window panes. The fires never got any closer, nor further away. The distant and disquiet chirps and croaks of the fens would still echo in the night, but only faintly. The east remained brusquely calm, and downtown rumbled like a volcano but was yet to show signs of an impending eruption. Too quiet; it was all too quiet. For all the noise that rose up from the streets below and dissipated into the wastes beyond the walls, there was little to nothing in the way of a response. It had been what, months since the last raider attack was beaten back like bloat flies and nothing since? Travellers from all directions reported nothing untoward - quiet roads, deserted ruins, empty skies. Not tonight, though, that was the difference - those were most definitely storm clouds on the horizon, blowing in from the east....

"Still up here Floyd?" came a rattling voice, as the door to the stairwell squealed open. A moustachioed ghoul, donned in a very-off-white suit, leant against the doorframe waiting for a response.

"There's a storm-a-comin' Carter" Floyd responded, in his own rasp.

"I hope it's a big one" Carter retorted, "I used to love watching the thunder roll overhead back in the old days..."

"'Spose we'll see soon enough" Floyd replied curtly. Curtis gestured beckoningly to the stairwell, Floyd followed his cue, and the two old ghouls sallied forth to find something for dinner. In the distant and dark tumbling clouds, a single, silent flash flared...

[Ralnis]

Black Mesa,
Military Base of the Midnight Legion,
Western Oklahoma Commonwealth

The old military base in the very edge of the Commonwealth. Once a Pre-War military base that was in ruins before the Legion came in. The Bull had used this as a forward operations to their expedition into the Commonwealth decades ago. The very image that the Bull was imprinted upon the land even after it's death. However the Midnight Legion had taken it as their military capital. The Bull replaced with the Lunar Vextis and the military base occupied by the new blue legionnaire armor that seemed more like it came from the NCR than anything of the true Legion.

Each of them was a conscript but still had the equipment to match the other tribals around them. The sound of morning drills were overheard the headquarters as the Nyx Tribune visited the war room as his Legates were surrounding the room. The entire room was refurbished with post-war furniture and made of their brahmin skin or irradiated trees. Much of the renewable resources were brought in when the whole of the Legion was connected. The whole of the Midwest America was connected through Caesar. Now only the various pieces have to sustain themselves, such as the small technology that was plundered or reused by the cohorts of the Nyx Tribune.

All of the leadership looked like they were from a corrupted version of the NCR. All the uniforms were a deep blue and pressed with a disciplined that only military training can provide. They were surrounded with a detail map of the county and the surrounding border with the Atomic Empire on the south, other lands in the north, and tribes in the east. Within the east were various outposts and lines that marked patrols or slave raids.

"As you can see my Tribune the forces are ready for the expedition into the eastern lands. Many of the Frumentari reports had show that the current tribes don't mind to trade with us but there are still others who need to be taught their errors."

The Tribune nodded," how many of these tribes will cause a problem for our expansion?"

"At the moment, four of them but they could rally the others if we don't break them completely." Another one said.

"Then let us begin the campaign. I want the 1st and 2nd cohorts ready to march on the expedition. We must crush these foolish tribes and make are moved closer to the more populated regions of Governate Oklahomae. Of course we should send emissaries to the Elk Legion. They would be more than notified of our movements eastward. They would think we mean to take them down but there are other ways of unification. We may not want to conquer the Fortress, but we must make peace. Peace enough to complete our goal of the City."