OOC:http://forum.nationstates.net/viewtopic.php?f=5&t=38084
It was raining ash again. Massive fires raged in the Black Forest, the lack of rain in this part of Germany caused it to become little more than a tinderbox. Before him sat his home village, numbering perhaps ten people it sat on a cliff overlooking the Rhine, a bloated stinking radioactive snake that flowed through Turgov's most inhospitable areas.
He glanced down at his hands, his skin a tired pale color it resembled a man who had not seen the sun for weeks. Gregor was his name, at least he thought it was his name. He lived outside of his village, an outcast because he had dared to speak out against Zeta and his local Baron Horus. Horus was a cruel lord who regularly doubled the taxes of his subjects. The village built upon the ruins of an old wine vineyard could not pay with money or goods so in payment his wife, and ten other women were taken to Horus' fortress. An old factory twenty kilometers to the west, it had given rise to the poor excuse for a city this area had.
Numbering ten hundred souls, Horoburg was like a stinking dead corpse. Dry brown fields brought in what little grain the radioactive soil could produce. Mutation and cancer were common place as was violence. Turgov was hardly held together by the nobility who answered to local Barons who answered to regional Dukes who answered to the God-King Zeta. Supporting his rule was the Death Cult, quasi national religion, quasi national army the Death Cult ruled the cities with an iron fist. Any dissent was mercilessly crushed, any resistance was brutally destroyed.
The officers of the Death Cult were clad in their advanced Exo suits. Almost impenetrable plates of steel were supported by small servo engines that allowed them to carry heavy loads and act with supernatural strength. The suits were few and far between, numbering only one hundred they were only earned or taken in combat. Gregor had seen one suit in his life. A black foul construct that had been glimpsed only from afar, it had never the less instilled fear in his heart.
Greg slowly walked back to his home. A small home that was alone in the forest, it was his own personal fortress. He slowly pushed open the door, it made a soft creak and he sighed as he glimpsed the run down interior. He sat upon his tired bed and began to read. He had copies of old books, a very rare thing in Turgov. He lay down upon his bed to sleep and read.
_Two days later_
Gregor slowly watched over his village like he always did, yet today something was different. A loud rumble to the south made him turn and watch in horror as a T-72 tank slowly made it's way into the village, behind it strode fifty foot soldiers and one knight. His Exo suit was visible even from here by the black smoke it belched out of a tall stack. With one motion he ordered his men and their tank to fire upon the village. Sharp cracks undercut by the deep boom of the tank sounded as they began the massacre of the village. Gregor could not fathom why they had done this until slowly the men began to dig with shovels and picks they produced from their packs.
Gradually the outline of a crashed helicopter was visible. It had taken them four hours and only one hour remained before night. It was suicide to remain outside at night, a mix of mutated wolves and shambling zombie like humans would kill any unwary travelers. To Greg's disbelief the men remained outside, they quickly constructed several sheds and tents and laid down some cheap razor wire. Greg had no such things and had to quickly move back to his home. He resolved to go back the next day and witness their work. If he had a chance perhaps he'd avenge his fellow villagers.
