«12. . .2,8902,8912,8922,893
Prologue, pt. 1
In the immediate aftermath of the apocalypse, Michigan - like the rest of the United States - was in the throes of societal collapse. The instant vaporization of millions of people - followed by the deaths of millions more to radiation - completely broke the ability of government services to respond to the crises. Entire towns burned to the ground because the members of their fire department were dead. Hospitals couldn't treat the radiation burns or the rads because their own doctors were coughing up blood. Looters roamed the streets and the countrysides, barely distinguishable from the militias that sprung out of the woodwork to "defend their own."
Out of the chaos rose the first King of Michigan. The legend goes that he was a survivor, living near Mackinaw Island in Charlevoix, to whom the Lady revealed herself and set up as Her champion. Ivan Stryder was ordained to end the chaos, and to rule Michigan on her behalf. Ivan promptly gathered to himself forces, and swept across the Lower Peninsula, eliminating the raiders and militias, and creating peace wherever he went. He even managed to tame the ruins of Motown, though the ruins were so radioactive at the time that once they were purged, his forces withdrew. Once Michigan was pacified, he set himself up in Lansing, and organized the Kingdom of Michigan like it was a medieval state - Dukes and all.
The Archives of the Wizards of Um tell a slightly different story. Apparently Ivan Stryder was a captain in the Great Midwest Commonwealth National Guard, stationed in Michigan, who seized on the opportunity to gain control. He did not originally set himself up as king; rather, as presumably the remaining ranking officer in the National Guard, he promoted himself to General and set about gaining control of what remaining military forces there were left in the Michigan region. Then, having gathered sufficient force, he embarked on a campaign to subdue the peninsula and reestablish order. It wasn't until about halfway through his campaign that he decided that, rather than try and set himself up as some sort of military dictator, he'd just set himself up as King - and the officers who supported him would become his Dukes.
The campaign was bloody and wasteful. So wasteful, in fact, that all sides had run out of ammunition by the end, and had resorted to fighting with knives and makeshift melee weapons. Unlike the Boneyard, there were no ammunition factories for survivors to turn into Gun Runners from, so once the Militia blew up the National Guard's main ammo dump at Fort Custer, that was it for gunpowder weapons in Michigan. Ivan approached the Wizards for help, but rather than make ammo for him, they donated suits of armor and taught them how to fight melee from horses - and how to make and use crossbows. And that's how Michigan regressed to the Medieval era.
Ivan reigned 20 years in Lansing as Ivan I. His rule was mostly accepted by the surviving Michiganders; though a proud people with a strong independent bent, they were happy to have order restored, even if it was restored in the most archaic fashion. It wasn't until after he died that the problems started. A stubborn man, Ivan outlived all of his children and all of his original Dukes. Their heirs, while loyal to him, were not particularly loyal to his grandson, and upon Ivan's death, almost as soon as the funeral was over, they began a civil war to gain the throne - a three-way civil war between two of the most powerful and charismatic dukes and the Ivani loyalists. The civil war lasted almost 40 years, and ended only when one of the claimants died and his faction was folded into the Loyalist faction. The heir of the claimant, Dirk Rodgers, made a deal with the Loyalists and King Ivan II - he'd switch sides, in exchange for being appointed the Lord Protector. Desperate for peace, Ivan II agreed, and together they defeated the (at this point very elderly) third claimant at the Battle of Bad Axe.
The Rodgers Protectorate (the Rodgerate, as it was often called) kept the peace in Michigan for the next century and a half. Slowly the region recovered, ecologically and in population. Trade along the lakeshore and the proliferation of artisans and merchants marked the latter half of the Rodgerate period, as towns grew and the extraction and reprocessing of scrap fueled a minor industrial revolution in Ivani society. It seemed, perhaps, that the peace in Ivania - as the land had become known - might last forever. At least until their peace was forcefully shattered in 2277 by a foreign invasion...
A Bear feast in wild rivers
The small meeting within the presidential Mansion between a few members of congress and the president had been well underway at this point. Late at night the talks and plans were some of the more ambitious to sensible and scattered reports and bills laid over a large table in the upper floor. President honeyfield sitting at the table while his three guests hovered or sat around the table. Tals were over a number of issues, much of it surrounding the baja state and some of the more recent news from the rangers operating within the NCR.
“The plan for baja development would be expensive. But the Stockmen’s Association and the Farmers Committee have been looking to expand their support. Building up the territory would be easy enough with the amount of settlers and locals already there.” said Henry Benson. Himself being the Vice-Peresident in the Stockmen’s Association. While not a member of congress he was one of the bigger monetary suppliers of Honeyfield’ s supporters. “I've already had a few new members join up from that region with the assurance they would be supported for their land claims. Close to 40 families have already signed on and are just waiting for the cash” Which would put another feather into the growing cap of Honeyfields clique of landowners and oligarchs. While a number of the other members of the Stockmen’s association like Hurk Gunderson have had complaints on the fact they have not been the sole beneficiaries of the growing market. The fact was that the more small landowners became invested in the system, the more political support would be given to honeyfield. With the other cliques and factions in congress holding the larger cities the need for a larger base besides redding and Sac-City was going to be important to pass legislation without the need to bring in the ever shifting opposition and congressional factions.
“With the amount of people already fighting over land it would solidify some order in the region. The amount of landowners already could bring a large amount of tax revenue and trade potential. With the talks with the Swiss underway, the idea of a European market has left a number of people looking forward to new trade routes.” Said The Hub’s senator “Considering how much of the rangers' time have been spent in the region it should bring quite the news.” And the representative was right. Even in the midst of the Mojave campaign a large chunk of the rangers were sent south to chase supposed large bandit groups and raiders. With most small fry having been given a shallow grave or chased out of the business. Though ranger Intelligence had been making reports that most fighting had been between NCR Settlers and the locals fighting for land and water. Causing most of the news of bandit army’s to just have been these battles mis reported on both sides. Making the establishment of a class of landowners patronage to bring a stronger sense of organization to the territory. Shifting the larger amount of fighting from the streets to backrooms.
Though considering the rangers lack of external enemies most have been given orders to chase anything close to a raider out of california. While a few areas were avoided like New Reno and other organised criminal enterprises thanks to the political connection adn money at theri disposal, old places like the den or the north coast of california bening cleared by bored rangers with little orders besides hunting down the rats in the woods and mountains. Now most civilians think raiders and bandits are a distant issue with the lack of small gangs or criminals that used to scitter under the bears' shadows. Having watched the rangers quickly wrap up an issue the law enforcement has been having issues with for some time.
“The gangs ran or died, those that ran will just stay low until the rangers are re-deployed.” Said a Ranger intelligence officer that was friendly with the Honeyfield Administration “We have counts of close to twelve hundred dead raiders, slavers, bandits, all scattered on the woods and mountains between san francisco and Arroyo.” the ranger shifting and lighting a cigarette for himself, “Most have just fled north into Oregon. Though with groups like the Cause, Scorch and the Lake folk i don't think we will be having any return anytime soon. Those groups would probably just eat them whole.” Moving towards the table to gesture along the northern NCR territories “We can assure just about every gang along the coast and frontier has been forced out, with a few going underground around Carson city and New Reno. What haven't gone north has fled into what remains of the 80’s in northern Nevada. Fighting between them has already begun but they have kept away from our territorial fringes thanks to the rangers stationed there now. “ Moving east alpong the I-80 “Most are scattered around the towns and settlements scattered along the I-80 and I-50.”
“With them gone we can push the public back into our graces and form another expedition, with Baja as an example of proper colonization and the internal territory being kept in order we can begin expanding our borders again. God knows what the Legion has been doing in the midwestern states. “Said the Hub rep, “Our lands are being tapped out thanks to poor management, and without the mojave keeping us tide over I don't think we have the time to just sit about till the legion comes back around.” Which was an unfortunate fact, the Army has guaranteed that the legion will come back at the bear once they fix their internal issues after Caesar's death. While California has held a large amount of land and resources. The three states that the legion had held and any further territory they could have taken in the years since the second battle for Hoover Dam. Since then the colorado river has been watched carefully by both sides waiting for the other to act against them. Now the Army commanders have begun to grow restless along with some of the more expansionist congressmen looking at the NCR borders. And while the Bear has been stuck hybernating for so long, it might be a good idea to let it walk outside the woods to remind the forest of the giant.
Pop loss: 1,194
The Arkansas Woods, July 11, 2083
Julie felt the brambles scratch at her skin as she raced through the brush to escape the encroaching men nipping at her heels. She had been spotted by three men while out scavenging and, seeing the malevolent intent in their gaze as they looked at her, she fled, hoping to lose them in the thicket rather than lead them back to her siblings at the camp. Her heart beat a frantic rhythm in her chest as her bare feet pounded the forest ground below, her mind racing to determine a way to best escape her pursuers. She rounded trees and pushed through bushes, and after a while she reached a clearing.
“I have to hide, I have to hide, I have to—“
She didn’t even get to finish the thought before she was tackled to the ground. She felt the weight of the man being pressed upon her back through his knee. She couldn’t see them, but she could hear the other two skulking closer, no doubt thinking to themselves what vile things they’d do to her. Her vision blurred when the attacker on top of her clonked her on the head with a blunt object, but even in her disorientation she struggled.
“You gave us a good run there little miss, but I think you owe us now,” the man leered at her from above, his face close enough to fill Julie’s nostrils with his rancid breath. She heard the others hooping and hollering, cheering their “friend” on in his perverse designs.
“Now, first imma need ya to relax. Won’t take long at all…” the man said, his voice dripping with sinister intent. Julie was desperate, and in that moment she just wished how He was there to protect her in that moment, just as He was before the “Bad Thing” happened and He went to Heaven. She knew it was pointless, but something compelled her to use what energy was left and what air still filled her lungs to scream out.
“Daddy! Help, Daddy!” she screamed for her father, knowing well he had died defending her and her siblings from men very similar to the one now crouched upon her back. Daddy was in Heaven, she knew that, but something yet compelled her to cry out for Him.
“Alright, I see— what the Hell?” And then she heard it. Silence. She wasn’t entirely privy to the ways of the world, but she had lived in the woods long enough to know that a still silence when even the birds didn’t sing their song was a very bad thing. It meant that something dangerous was there. The men could sense it too and began scanning the area, and even though it was silent she knew very well that something was out there watching the events unfold.
The man on top of her was the first to go. In one moment he had her life in his hands, and the next Julie raised her head to see that his had been severed from his body, leaving his headless carcass to slump to the ground next to her and her splattered in his blood. In that moment she saw her “savior;” the Thing stood very tall, and looked like a skeleton. She could make out the bony structure as it appeared covered by a skin-like layer of viscera and flora, its head adorned by antlers in the likeness of a crown. It held the head of the first man above its open gullet, gulping down the blood which flowed on to the rotten tongue hanging in its mouth. The other two were paralyzed in fear and could barely muster the strength to raise their weapons as the Thing tossed the head to the ground and lowered its gaze to meet theirs.
Julie shielded her eyes from the slaughter that unfolded. In a flurry of screams and gunfire, the Thing ripped the two assailants apart, their last screams echoing off the trees in a grim cacophony of violence. When the noises ceased, Julie moved her hands and opened her eyes to a terrifying sight. The Thing was looking right at her, crouched over the mangled bodies of her two attackers, it’s face still covered in gore and viscera hanging from its lips. She recoiled in fear, but the Thing did something that shook her to her very core.
First, it took its right pointer finger and pointed to its eye— which she saw was very much alive and a very familiar ocean blue— then it used its fingers to form the shape of a heart, before it then pointed, slowly, at her. Without uttering a word, the message was clear.
“I love you.”
Julie silently rose from the ground and stood. She didn’t move for a moment, but when it had fully sunk in she began walking closer to the Thing. She couldn’t believe it, but after what she had seen it couldn’t be denied anymore. She opened her mouth and asked the Thing a question she already knew the answer to in her heart of hearts:
“D-daddy? Is that you?”
He didn’t have lips to smile with, but Julie knew her father would have warmly smiled at her as the Thing nodded its head in the affirmative. He stretched out a bony hand towards his eldest daughter and cocked his head to the side. Julie was hesitant at first, but eventually took her returned father by the hand and began the walk back to the camp.
”Bubby and Sissy are gonna be so happy! You look really scary Daddy, but they’ll know it’s you! I missed you Daddy!”
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
THE GREEN MAN COMETH
Danse II: Call to Arms
”Engine fueling complete, all systems ready for static fire.”
Danse lets out a ragged cough as he looks through the glass of the control room. Institute synths swarmed the engine testing lab, all firing their lasers at the glass. The glass was meant to withstand strong forces and has so far held up, but some cracks have started to appear. Behind him, Danse could hear synths pounding at the barricaded door to the control room. Danse closes his eyes, You are a Paladin of the Brotherhood. . .remember the mission. He opens them and hits the large red button on the console. An alarm rings out through the ArcJet facility as Danse could hear the pipes groaning as the engine’s systems prep for ignition.
”Static fire initiated. . .commencing countdown. . .t-minus ten seconds. . .nine. . .”
Danse glanced out the glass again to notice a synth carrying a large, familiar object. . .
”. . .eight. . .”
F*ck, it’s the deep range transmitter. If that transmitter is caught in the engine fire, it will be destroyed. Danse doesn’t waste another second and immediately throws on his helmet. . .
”. . .seven. . .
Danse rushes to the door of the control room and moves a few of the chairs and tables blocking the door. . .
”. . .six. . .”
Once a few of the objects were cleared, Danse bursts through the doorway, completely knocking it off the hinges, bulldozing over three synths in his path. . .
”. . .five. . .”
Danse bursts into the main engine chamber, blasting synths with his rifle. He quickly scans the crowd as he charges through synths, taking laser blast after laser blast and returning them in kind. . .remember the mission. . .
”. . .four. . .”
After smacking a synth across the room, he spots the synth with the deep range transmitter, right in front of him, he charges and tackles the synth to the ground. . .
”. . .three. . .”
He manages to wrestle the transmitter from the synth and rushes back from the chamber. As he runs, a laser blasts pierce through his armor, burning his arms and legs, but he doesn’t cry out, he keeps marching forward. . remember the mission. . .
”. . .two. . .”
As he nears the door to the control room, several synths grab ahold of him, their metallic grip difficult to escape from, they drag Danse down to his knees. . .
”. . .one. . .”
Danse attempts to break free but the synths grip is too strong. . .remember the mission, remember the mission, remember Rhys, remember Haylan, remember the Brotherhood. . .Danse breaks his arms free and crouches down to the ground, covering the deep range transmitter with his body. . .
”. . .zero. . .”
A loud blast fills the facility as the XMB engine ignites, slamming tens of thousands of pounds of force onto the synths beneath the engine, completely disintegrating them to dust. The flames pour over Danse, disabling the synths trying to pry at him, but he doesn’t move. . .in the gaps and holes in his armor, flames completely torch his skin, he holds back the pain as he starts to struggle to breathe. The outside of his armor begins to start melting under the high temperatures. The display in his helmet begins to short out as molten metal begins to drip down. . .he finally yells out in pain as his exposed skin is completely burned away, the suit’s armor continuing to melt away. . .
Finally, the loud blast stops as the engine shuts down, ”Engine shutdown, static fire completed. . .”
Danse, in extreme pain, sits up and looks down to see the deep range transmitter intact. Then he looks down to his burned arms and legs, the power armor completely ruined. . .this is going to be a fun trip back to base. . .
Long Bills, Ardentus, and Green Lands
Danse III: Broken Steel
The journey back was a grave challenge for Danse. Already having to abandon his ruined armor back at ArcJet, Danse lost one of his key advantages over adversaries in the Wasteland. He used the last of his purified water to clean his burns, the best that he could. The pain was unbearable. Every step and movement he takes, searing pain shoots through his body. Much of his clothing was torn for him to wrap his wounds.
He had arrived at ArcJet in the early morning, as the Sun was rising. And now, as he gets closer to Cambridge, the Sun has begun setting. Danse looked down to the transmitter in his hand. Through it all, he completed the mission. As was his sworn duty. No matter what, he must complete the mission.
As he approaches the back of the police station, he feels something is off. The gate swung wide open, and as he looked at the roof, he noticed the Brotherhood flag was completely gone. He brings out his rifle and keeps it in hand as he approaches the front, only to see a massive hole at the front of the entrance. . .what the hell happened? He had a dark feeling deep in his gut as he passes through the doorway. An explosion had completely wrecked the main entrance, but it seemed a bit far to have created the hole, almost as if something was thrown into it.
“Rhys? Haylan?” Danse calls out, to no response. He scans the area, noticing bits of flesh around the area of the explosion. He felt a disturbing feeling come over him, “. . .Rhys?” He quickly looks around the station to find it completely stripped of all resources, parts, and weapons.
Somebody attacked Rhys and Haylan, possibly killed them, but who? And why? Was this the Institute? Whoever it was, they were fast and took care of business. Even the terminals were stripped down to useless hunks of metal. It wasn’t safe here any longer. Danse looked down to the transmitter in his hands, and realized now that he risked his life for nothing. With the terminals destroyed in the explosion and radio tower disabled, Danse had next to no options.
He almost laughed at the absurdity of the situation, before coming back to understanding the graveness of it. Danse spent a few minutes considering his options before deciding. He already has the transmitter, would be a waste to not attempt to use it, and risking a journey to the Capital Wasteland without informing the Brotherhood would risk everything. He packed his few belongings and walked out, turning to the south. Many times, he had heard the voice of Travis on Diamond City Radio. The signal was strong enough to reach all over the Commonwealth, but not enough to the Capital Wasteland, but with the transmitter. . .Danse put the transmitter in his bag as he began his journey south into Boston, his new mission clearer than ever before.
The Metal Fleet
"We've reached our destination, sir! Whitespring Resort and the Whitespring Congressional Bunker are nearby! No threats are detected in the perimeter of the landing. We are clear for landing!" The pilot of one of the VB02 Vertibirds stated to the Lieutenant Colonel in the back, encroaching at the resort like a majestic bird soaring in the wind with its flock.
The fleet of four VB02 Vertibirds landed at the Whitespring Resort, with the one harboring the Lieutenant Colonel landing atop the roof. The sudden sound of mechanical humming and blades whirling in the air ceased, allowing the men embedded in their shiny power armor suits to dismount the Vertibirds and march into the resort. As the men bustled through the front entrance door, the soldiers were greeted pleasantly by a Mr. Handy servant.
"Ah, visitors! How joyous! The last time we had visitors was nearly two centuries ago! We just unlocked our doors to the resort eight months ago after yet another refurbishment, so you gentlemen are more than welcome to make yourselves home! Welcome to the Whitespring Resort! Oh- and please don't track dirt in here! I just-... waxed the floors..."
The Enclave troops proceeded past the Mr. Handy robot, which greeted them with its programmed messages. Several troops tracked grass and dirt into the clean and pristine flooring with their power armor. Oblivious to the robot's commands, eager to discover this high-tech bunker.
Sergeant Arnold made their way into the middle of the upper lobby on the second floor and spoke to the troops, raising his voice for everyone to hear. "Listen up, maggots! I want all of you to fan out and secure this resort and locate the Congressional bunker. We need all hands on deck to find this; if anyone else is in this building or the bunker, take them prisoner and bring them to me. If they're ghoulified or mutated, execute them and burn the bodies. I want infantry on the first, second, and third floors; our service agents will patrol the exterior. Dismissed!"
After conducting an exhaustive search that lasted twenty minutes, Secret Service agents successfully located the bunker just a few meters away from the resort. The agents then returned to the resort to request a team consisting of infantry and engineers. The engineers were equipped with a Pip-Boy, enabling them to open the Vault, which allowed the foot soldiers to approach the entrance. However, they encountered an active laser grid defense system. The engineers were called upon once again to turn off the bunker's defenses. They accomplished this by deftly flipping the circuit conduit and throwing the bunker's breaker, finally rendering it accessible for infiltration.
As the armed foot soldiers entered the bunker, approached the stairwell, and stepped down the stairs, a voice crackled over the intercom, its digital tone echoing through the barren bunker. "Ah... What do we have here? Multiple identities. Barely irradiated. Power armor, from the sounds of it... Please, come further inside."
Once the foot soldiers reached the end of the stairs, they were met with a podium displaying a masculine face with eyeglasses on, a digital persona. "Ah, there you all are. We are glad to see... familiar faces. Welcome, we are MODUS, the Multi-Operation Directions and Utility System. Our solemn, personal duty is to attend to the needs of all of you who will soon call this place home. We have attempted to reach national Enclave facilities, but our broadcasting reach is... minimal. Welcome home, Enclave. What can we do for you?"
Sergeant Arnold peered over to one of the soldiers with amusement. "Get Lieutenant Colonel Patrick down here immediately; he'll want to see this..."
Ardentus and Michigan IVT
There in a minute, part 1
The small team of scouts alongside sargent Willis, now stripped of anything Enclave, arrived at a small town of Concord. Last reports of the town were from a distance, owning to the fact of a local raider gang. When Willis and his men arrived, posing as traders, they were greeted with a small bustling town holding a market along the streets. As they approached, they had noticed patrols of men holding what appeared to be stripped and altered laser guns, but unaware the raiders had been kicked out, assumed they had been walking into danger, so were prepared for a far more dangerous propersition.
As they wandered the streets, they began to gain a sense of realisation that the America depicted in books and holo-tapes wasn't truly dead yet and had been slowly brought to life by this group of settlers. They began to converse with the civilians who pointed them further up the road, promising the General was up in Sanctuary, the de-facto civilian hangout of the Minutemen. The group nodded and continued up the road, finding themselves at a red rocket gas station. When on the approach, they found the guards at the station motion towards them.
"Buisness within Sanctuary?" A female asked, motioning to the group, "Firearms are allowed, but without valid reason we cannot allow anyone inside."
Sargent Willis spoke up, "We're here on behalf of a small gathering of settlers who would like to plead for the support of the Minutemen to the General."
The two guards on duty looked across at each other, before one nodded and they were motioned through. Sactuary sat in front of the travelling scouts, a thriving community inside which lives were being lived free from the scorn of the wasteland's terror. Children ran around the streets, playing tag and other such games. A Mr. Handy robot roamed the streets, offering water to all who needed it. It was a thriving community, a beacon to society. The scouts now within the settlement, were quickly guided to the General's office, a building in the middle of the town. As they knocked on the door, a voice called out from inside:
"Come in, it's unlocked."
The Arkansas Woods, Home, 2289
He still remembers.
He remembers their first date, how they’d driven off their college campus for dinner and spent the night looking at the stars. As his form, now long altered by the taint of death and unnatural rebirth, trod towards his destination, he looked up and saw what he believed to be those very same stars looking down on him.
He remembers meeting her parents and how they’d loved him. He was the only man their daughter had brought home who never hurt her, never laid a finger on her, never took her trust for granted. He thought back to how his own family reacted to her— they’d hated that their son had brought hone a girl they wrote off as a illiterate country bumpkin, never mind she was only from one county over.
He remembers their wedding day and how he’d shed tears upon the sight of her walking down the aisle, her face beaming to him like light from heaven— his angel in the flesh. She’d looked so beautiful that day in her bridal dress. Only the best for the queen of his castle.
He remembers the birth of their children— Julie was the oldest, the light of his world and the one who’d always looked up to him the most. Robbie came next, his little man who reminded him so much of his own father. Then came little Lizzie, the baby of the family who was always so happy and giggly. Oh how she’d been so happy to meet them all when they were born, and how happy he was to finally meet the babies she’d given him.
He remembers the day when the bombs fell. The war took the world from them, but at the end he still had her by his side, always hopeful that things would get better. They’d tried to make the best of things— still kept birthdays, holidays, and tried making toys for the kids to lift their spirits. No matter how hard things got, she was always there, encouraging him on, his personal cheerleader.
He remembers the rainy day when he was forced to bury her. She’d gotten sick— some kind of strange illness brought on from contact with a fungi in the woods. She’d fought on as strong as she could, but in the end her lungs couldn’t take it. She passed away in the home he had helped build for them, surrounded by their children who wept for days for their lost mother. He stayed strong though and kept them safe, teaching them how to live off the land and survive in the woods.
He remembers the day he tasted death himself. The bandits had taken them by surprise, and while he had given his children enough time to escape he was too wounded from his fight, and slipped away into bliss after telling his little ones to stay strong and keep on living.
He remembers being awakened from his slumber by her voice. The same thing that took her from him had given her some kind of new life— and him by extension. He heard her voice as the angelic call he’d always known it as. “Wake up my love, the babies are in trouble and they need their father,” she had told him. And as he always did, he heeded the call. He didn’t let them see him for a while. He would slip the occasional deer to them to keep them fed, but it was only after that fearful day when those men attacked Julie that his children had seen him since his resurrection.
Now, the Green Man hauls the carcass of another trespasser— a gunman sent by those vile townsfolk to harm his family down into the heart of the earth below his home where She waits. She’s been there for years, her thick roots of flora and viscera spreading wide and deep with every morsel delivered to her. Her voice calls out to her love to bring her more, and as he watches the vines cover and consume the corpse he kneels next to her form. He places his hand on hers and for the first time in a long time her hand clasps around his. He doesn’t have lips to smile, but his heart (if he has one anymore) leaps for joy. He has ruled as king of the forests for years, but a king is alone expect for when his queen is beside him.
Oh yes, the Green Man remembers. He remembers the love that held his soul to this world to be given life anew, and he remembers the life that was stolen from them by mankind’s failure. He remembers the beloved wife taken from him, and he says to her (though he cannot speak) “Wake up honey, our family is in trouble and they need their Mother.” He remembers that he is alone without her.
But he knows that he will have her back, and he doesn’t care how many he has to sacrifice to give her life once more.
Ardentus and Michigan IVT
Blood and Gasoline
With the latest raids bringing back yet more wealth to be distributed amongst the tribe, the call had been made to the major caravaner groups who used the Raveners' domain as a safe location and passage point to operate in; the raiders were in the market for some vehicles to augment their raiding parties. Nothing too fancy, scrap for the most part, but it was far better than anything they could make themselves seeing as combustion engines remained beyond their expertise. They already knew how to make gasoline, however, and put a great many slaves to work on a refinery which would produce the necessary fuel for their soon-to-exist fleet of cars.
America's Comeback
Observing a fleet of steel Vertibirds flying over Appalachia stirred the curiosity of the residents in the area. The population was curious about the nature of their transportation and whether the Brotherhood of Steel or the Responders had emerged from their long absence. It is clear, however, that the fleet was heading southbound. Many individuals, including settlers, scavengers, and raiders, felt compelled to follow the fleet and explore the dangers of West Virginia along the way.
Yet, their arduous trek through the desolate landscape was rewarded with a sight that defied their expectations of a meticulously maintained golf resort. The stark contrast of fresh green grass, sprawling plains, and a grand white mansion in the distance against the backdrop of a post-apocalyptic world was a sight to behold. This unexpected discovery further fueled their curiosity, urging them to delve deeper into the mystery of the Vertibirds and the lands they had led them to. The exterior of Whitespring Resort is protected by Protectrons, Sentry Bots, and Assaultrons, all engineered by the Enclave robotics experts and technicians to be maintained and operated by robotics handlers from afar via a terminal computer. As the civilians, raiders, and scavengers encroached upon Whitespring Resort's entrance, Sentry Bots immediately rushed over and stopped them in their tracks.
"All combat systems active. This unit suggests you move along. Member activities in this space are restricted to the following: leaving. End of list. The recruitment station is approximately 49 meters southwest of this location."
As members of the public ventured on a path towards the southwest of the Whitespring Resort, a group of scavengers and raiders attempted to breach the defenses of Whitespring. However, the Sentry Bots stationed there quickly neutralized them with their tri-barrel miniguns, efficiently eliminating all hostile entities before they could mount any resistance.
Upon discovering the Enclave's discreet recruitment location, a group of civilians was accompanied by two soldiers in suits of APA-II armed with miniguns and two recruitment officers. The civilians were then invited to participate in the MODUS entrance questionnaire, which tested their ideologies before advancing to the next stage. One of the questions proved consequential for five of the enlistees: "Which of the following thinkers' belief systems most closely matches your own?" Unfortunately, five of the enlistees, who appeared to lack sufficient knowledge, answered randomly and chose Karl Marx. After completing their questionnaire exam, all the enlistees were instructed to follow the recruitment officers toward the Whitespring Resort for further testing while the soldiers held back the five who answered incorrectly. Before the officers left, they gave the soldiers a cold command, pointing at the five enlistees.
"All right, that's all of them. Kill those commie b*stards." The armored soldiers promptly executed the five enlistees, echoing into the atmosphere around them, filling the air with rapid minigun gunfire.
The Enclave has successfully recruited fifty new members who are being trained to become highly skilled military combatants. Additionally, the technical staff have restored and repaired ten Mr. Handy robots, which were previously deactivated or damaged within the resort. Their efforts have also led to the discovery and acquisition of more infantry armor, laser rifles, and assault rifles that the previous Enclave occupants in the Whitespring Congressional bunker left behind.
+50 Enclave recruits
+20 R90 Assault Rifles
+5 Laser Rifles
+10 Mr. Handy robots
+2 sets of Combat Armor
Bradshaw, AK, 2289
The attack came early at the crack of dawn when the townspeople and their hired goons were still huddled in fear as the Garden had encroached upon the town, bringing with it the tribals they so feared and the wildlife “blessed” by the mysterious fungi that had come to be symbiotically-attached to their primitive attackers. The farms beyond the wall had been consumed entirely by the ravenous flora, covering once vibrant fields of wheat and grain in a thick sinewy canopy that moved with more life than expected by mere “plants.” The town’s call for help had been heeded by a small company of men— adventurers seeking a thrill, do-gooders who thought themselves a force for right, even a few who just simply wanted a fight perhaps— but over the past few weeks their number was depleted as more vanished into the foliage, consumed by whatever mysterious force lurked beyond the treeline.
The rumors were common enough. Stories had made their way back by survivors who luckily escaped back to Bradshaw with their lives, and they carried back tales of horrors in the wilderness. They told tales of trees who watched your every move with a burning hatred, mysterious feline monstrosities who snatched the unsuspecting away from their campfires at night, hostile savages who thrilled in battle, and most terrifying of all of “the Green Man.” The locals had stories before— they had known him as the Wendigo, the Forest King, Ol’ Horn-ed Head, and many other titles to refer to the enigmatic and bloodthirsty entity who seemed to jealously protect the savages in the woods with a ferocity that seemed uncharacteristic of a animal.
The last day of Bradshaw began with these rumors hanging in the air. The guards on the walls first saw the rustling in the brush and opened fire. What was supposed to be a warning to drive off assumed scouts turned out to be the opening shot of a brutal onslaught— one the townspeople had brought upon themselves. Before their eyes a tide of attackers emerged from hiding, some of which were even hidden in the same expanding ichorous kudzu in the old fields. A swarm of violent brutes adorned with masks of bone and clothing of skins and flora charged the guards, and while a few fell to gunfire it was a foregone conclusion.
As the Kin swarmed into the streets of Bradshaw, what few armed men remained were swept away in a tide of axes, arrows, daggers, and ferocity. One man, a father known to his neighbors as Tom, would see the barbarity unfold before his very eyes. The Kin massacred those who fought back in quick succession— one man who had fired on their warriors received a axe blow to the skull for his troubles, another was simply ganged on by a trio of warriors who took a grim pleasure in stamping his bones to paste and eviscerating him with their daggers. Tom himself saw the bloody aftermath— he saw one tribal splashing in a puddle of blood which came from his neighbor Donny’s corpse, his entrails ripped from his stomach by a bladed instrument; he saw yet another example as two tribals made a game of kickball from the severed head of his friend and colleague Arnold, who was taken down as the Kin marched towards the town center.
Tom could only be thankful that Em and the others had escaped, but he would make sure that his son, Thomas Jr., would not have been taken in vain. He perched himself upon the roof of a nearby shop, making sure to conceal his position and blockade all entrances. From there he sniped at the marauding savages; one’s throat was ripped out by a well placed round as he exited the town clinic, another lost the back of his head in a cloud of bloody mist as Tom pumped a round into him as he’d peeped up to find the shooter, and a third met his demise as Tom lodged a round into his heart when he’d finally locked on to him with a bow and arrow.
Tom laid three more tribals to rest before he saw it. Or rather, saw them. Four figures now walked into the street from the ruined gate. Three appeared to be rather shorter than the tribal warriors, cloaked in a distinctive attire resembling a robe but covered in that same mysterious fungi, with pale skin and blackened eyes with blue irises. The fourth was a massive entity— it was wearing a similar attire as the three smaller beings, but much larger, and the sight of a crown-like arrangement of deer antlers on its head shook Tom. Without a second though he knew, he was now looking at the mythical “Green Man.” The four walked through the streets observing the carnage unfold, but most disturbingly how the warriors now appeared to be piling the carcasses of the slain into a large pile, forming a mountain of rot and decay in the center. Seeing a chance to avenge the loss of his child, Tom took a shot at the shortest of the three smaller beings.
The bullet never connected. Instead, Tom watched in horror as the shot was stopped in its tracks as a sudden wall of tentacle-like appendages emerged in front of the target, and he saw they had come from the Green Man. Tom froze in horror as he realized another thing— he was looking straight at him.
In nearly a minute it was on top of him. The Green Man launched itself across the ground as it rushed to Tom’s location. He tried to flee but he was too late to open the door he had locked, and soon he found himself being drug by the tentacle-like arms back to the growing circle of tribal warriors, their faces and bodies caked in the blood of his friends and neighbors. The three robed beings gathered first, but watched him while hiding behind the Green Man.
“Daddy, did that man try to hurt me?” came the voice of what sounded like a young girl, the one that Tom had apparently taken his shot at.
“Yeah, I saw it, he tried to shoot you Lizzie!” another voice exclaimed, this time that of a male. He sounded angry.
“I tooolllldd you guys they were bad people, that’s why we had to hurt them!” A third voice, a little older than the others, but still retaining an almost ancient feeling.
Tom struggled against his restraints. “You freaks destroyed my home, you killed my friends, you took my son! I’m gonna kill every last one of you savages I swear to Go-“ He was cut off as three of the tentacle appendages impaled him in both eyes and in his throat. His body was tossed on to the growing pile, and the Green Man watched on as the Ichorvines slowly subsumed the corpse pile into its own mass. The Kin celebrated their victory amidst the dead city of Bradshaw, and soon these ruins would become just like the wilderness— a wild place added into the growing “garden” of the Kin and their ravenous “Mother” and “Father.”
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
The Kin expands by 1 tile.
Ardentus and Green Lands
Always Darkest, Part 2
Somewhere in the Territory of the Knights, Northwestern Oregon
Adrian felt his breath in the gas mask as he and the rest of his squad moved through the forest. He scanned the trees, but kept calm as he caught a glimpse of one of his men, rifle in hand and nearly impossible to see unless you knew what you were looking for. That was the advantage of the armor of the Nyx Guard, dark colors that let them blend in at night.
Angels he thought to himself why did it have to be Sasquatch country?
He thought back to what the Captain had said, that if he completed this trial he would become the youngest sergeant in the Nyx Guard, and that was an achievement he wanted. So he took the job, leading a group of ten men and women he knew, had trained with, become friends with, into danger.
They didn’t even need to kill any Sasquatch, he just needed to lead a successful scout mission, assess if there was a Sasquatch camp in the area, whittle down the list of areas they could be raiding a small settlement from. Still, he was nervous that they would run into some of those hulking creatures. Green-gray, some so ancient they remembered the world from a century prior, their parents and grandparents alive before the war.
Wise too Adrian thought. Shame they can’t coexist the same way their Scorch kin can.
A twig snapped. Adrian raised his rifle and scanned the surrounding forest. He could make out the shapes of his squad moving. One raised a hand, just them, alright. They kept moving. He kept scanning the forest for any sign of movement, especially animals, since they might not actually be animals…
He felt a hand on his shoulder. He spun, drawing his pistol to aim at whoever had placed their hand there. He took a deep breath in relief when he saw the mask of one of his men, and one of his closest friends, James.
“Are you alright?” He leaned in and whispered, careful to make sure nothing else could hear them.
“I’m fine,” Adrian responded in an equally hushed tone, holstering his pistol.
“Hey, you can do this, if anyone here’s gonna make sergeant, it’s you,” James said reassuringly. Adrian smiled under his mask.
“Let’s just make it to the objective,” he said, reading his rifle again and continuing on.
Another thirty minutes passed when he saw a faint glow ahead. He walked forward towards it, waving a hand for the rest of his squad to follow. They approached, closing in from all sides. Adrian signaled for them to halt, then raised his rifle so he could look through the scope. He saw a small clearing with a large, nearly dead campfire in the center, dead animal carcasses strewn about, their meat ripped out rather than carved. Sasquatches, and they’d moved on by now. Likely a small scouting camp. Adrian sighed. It wasn’t ideal, but it was news he could bring back to his superiors, proof that his mission and leadership wasn’t a total failure. He waved his hand for his squad to return to the settlement they’d set out from. He saw a few shapes nodding, the message had been received and passed on.
The walk back was just as disquieting, Adrian was constantly on alert for everything around him. An owl hooted. He turned at the sound, raising his gun at where it had come from, only to sigh once he realized what the source was.
Another five minutes passed as he and his squad kept moving. Adrian watched as the trees swayed in what little moonlight there was, branches creaking. He saw one, shorter than the rest and lacking any branches, probably just an old stump. He turned his eyes forward again, then caught a glimpse of movement. He turned his eyes back to the tree he had just been looking at, keeping his head forward. The tree was still.
Just his nerves. He kept moving forward. He heard a branch snap and turned abruptly.
The tree he had been looking at before had moved, branches had sprouted from near its top, with one trailing off into a long, cylindrical shape.
That was no tree. Those were arms as thick as branches, and that shape at the end was a rifle.
Adrian’s breath caught, he felt his heart pounding. No time for fancy signals, he had to do something now. He aimed right at the shape.
”SASQUATCH!” he yelled at the top of his lungs and fired.
The light lit up the surrounding forest for a moment, giving him the briefest glimpse of a towering gray-green creature covered in the hide of a bear and carrying a makeshift pipe rifle. A long leather strap held an overgrown upper lip back, and Adrian could see an angry expression on the creature’s face before the bullet entered its left eye. The light dissipated and the mutant fell back to the ground, dead.
Lights began to flicker on, some from his squad in the form of flashlights, others from the Sasquatch mutants in the form of torches. Within a few seconds, the forest had turned into a battlefield. Adrian ducked behind a tree as he heard the rhythmic clap of the pipe weapons the Sasquatch carried, bullets whizzing by him as he clutched his rifle. He took deep breaths to steady his nerves.
I’ve trained for this he thought to himself. He heard the footsteps of a mutant approaching, fast and heavy. He rolled out from behind the tree, finding himself face to face with the creature. It snarled and raised its pipe weapon, but Adrian fired his own assault rifle, putting a bullet into its chest and another into its head. He breathed a sigh of relief and stood.
“Lights out and retreat!” he yelled out to the rest of his squad. Their lights began to flick off, leaving the mutants scrambling to spot them as knights either opened fire at a few of the mutants, cutting them down before moving away, checking their compasses and continuing towards the settlement to their East.
Adrian did the same, racing through the brush and only turning briefly to fire off a few shots with his pistol. At best he’d hit a few more Sasquatch, at worse he’d draw their attention to him, make sure they didn’t get his men. He turned his head forwards again and nearly skidded to a stop. In front of him stood a massive Sasquatch mutant, its torch attached to a rifle it was carrying. It smiled and leveled its gun at Adrian, who felt his heart stop in that moment. Then he felt someone’s hand slam into his shoulder, pushing him to the left just as the Mutant fired. He fell, only briefly catching the mutant’s head jerk back before it slowly tipped and fell to the ground, a red circle forming on its forehead.
Adrian fell to the ground a moment later, feeling another body on top of him before feeling whoever it was shift to the right and fall to the ground next to him. He sat up and looked over at the body. It was another knight, and after a moment Adrian let out a quiet gasp of fear. It was James laying on the ground next to him, groaning in pain. Adrian got up and knelt beside his friend, noticing he had a bullet wound in his shoulder and another in his neck.
“No,” he murmured. “No no no no!” His voice grew louder with every repetition as he reached for his medical kit. A stimpak, maybe some med-x, that would stop the bleeding… He felt James’ hand on his.
“Don’t bother,” he said.
“I can save you,” Adrian said, not stopping his quest for the medicine.
“No,” James said quietly. “You can’t.” His breath was ragged now, Adrian knew he didn’t have much time… “I’m losing too much blood. Just make sure I get a proper funeral. Make sure the others make it out alive.” Adrian stopped scrambling, anguish washing over him. “Tell my family that I did my duty to the Knights.”
“You…you…” Adrian wanted to say James could tell them himself, but the words caught in his throat. He couldn’t breathe.
“Live a good life Adrian,” James said, before his grip on Adrian’s arm went slack. Adrian looked down at the body of his friend, his eyes now vacant and staring up at the night sky. Adrian closed his eyes tightly, trying to hold back the grief, the tears, the sorrow…
He opened them again, now filled with fury. He stood and readied his rifle. He grabbed another gun at his hip, a flare gun. He closed his eyes, stretched his arm skyward and fired. After a moment, a red flare burst to life. His squad would come and get James’ body, but he’d also just drawn the attention of every Sasquatch that was still ready for a fight.
He opened his eyes, seeing a group of three Sasquatches in Radstag hides approaching.
“Just surrender and we’ll give you a quick death,” the first one said in a calm manner. “We don’t want any further bloodshed.” Adrian chuckled to himself, the laugh growing louder until he was cackling. The mutants looked at each other, confused. Adrian finally stopped laughing.
“You’re not leaving here alive.” He looked up at them, readying his rifle. Then, he roared, a primal scream that drew the mutants last few moments of attention as Adrian fired round after round at them. One fell immediately, but the other two took cover behind trees and another three ran forward to join their kin, torches attached to the ends of their rifles.
“COME ON THEN!” Adrian bellowed in rage, firing at the reinforcements. Another fell, collapsing onto the body of the first. A few attempted to return fire, but found other Knights approaching, their own gunfire joining the chorus alongside Adrian’s. The remaining mutants, apparently not willing to take their chances, turned and ran, dousing their torches as they did and vanishing back into the night.
Adrian exhaled, not realizing he’d been holding his breath for Angels knew how long. He turned to see that two of his squadmates had arrived, one already checking James’ body.
“He’s dead,” Adrian said, holding back tears as he did. “We’ll bring his body with us. Can’t risk those savages getting their hands on it.” The knights nodded, taking his shoulders and hoisting him up. It looked like he had just been drinking and had passed out, the same as so many nights together, flirting with girls at bars…Adrian closed his eyes again.
“I’ll carry him.” The knights looked to face him, but after a moment, nodded and handed him the body. Adrian took it in his arms with a bridal carry, and began following the other two. He looked around, seeing the rest of his squad walking through the trees, guns at the ready for another potential ambush.
“I’m sorry,” Adrian whispered to the body. “I’m sorry I couldn’t save you.”
Live a good life, that was what James had said, what his final words were, and they swirled through Adrian's head as his legs grew numb over the few miles back towards the settlement. Adrian saw as the sun began to rise, illuminating the small cluster of huts and market buildings that constituted the town. In that moment, Adrian wasn’t sure how he could fulfill that wish. Despite the sunrise, all he could see was the darkness.
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