I decided to put my claim that an article with full scope could be written in 1200 words to the test. Word tells me that this one has 1182, if it's lying I'm not responsible.
---
Times of fire breed men of steel. But in the calm that follows, such men may just as quickly fall out of favour with those who were previously depending on them and looking up to them. In a world where a bloated rancher behind his desk can wield more power than an armed and armoured warrior, there is little gratitude to be gained for standing guard against the ghosts of yesterday, against the unseen threats of tomorrow.
It was in such times that the Brotherhood of Steel, formerly a bastion of power and knowledge, turned increasingly back towards isolationism. Allying themselves with the burgeoning New California Republic had provided a measure of security in terms of campaigns and provisions, but also a growing threat in terms of identity. In their heyday, it was argued, the Brotherhood had fulfilled their preservationist and disciplinary ideals precisely by remaining closed to the outside world, commanded respect thanks to a combination of mystery and raw power. At this point the knowledge upon which they had relied was effectively being disseminated, whether they liked it or not, and a future was envisioned in which the Brotherhood had been marginalized to insignificance simply because they no longer safeguarded anything except old wisdom that no one would have. To the extent that they benefited others, they were at the same time rendering themselves obsolete. And while their collected knowledge could strengthen the growing civilization it was no safeguard against another fall.
In a very real sense, the Brotherhood could only _be_ the Brotherhood by purposely turning away from the rest of humanity and retaining whatever advantages remained to them. Merging into the hierarchies of the surrounding society, the members of the organization would live on, but their old purpose and ideals would be no more. Only in isolation could their distinctions and leverage be preserved. This appeal to both vanity and prudence quickly gained ground in the organization, not least among younger elements whose glowing nostalgia had not come at the cost of blood.
And so it was that, in the days following the fall of Vault City and the sacking of New Reno, the Brotherhood decided to go once more into seclusion. But the world around their Lost Hills headquarters was not the one it had been. Instead of scattered settlements with no deep affiliations, the land was now united into a single confederation, however unsteady. The Elders were not going to bet their future on the good graces of NCR magnates and their political puppets.
The solution? To establish something akin to a backup facility, a second home, a dwelling to mirror old roots and traditions, an abode out of reach of all known prospective enemies. To go east, treading the dead land under tireless boots. How far? As far as it goes.
Four platoons undertook this journey, bringing arms and tools and knowledge on an endless trek past the half-buried bones of old civilization. The cold fury of the mountains was only the beginning of this torturous ordeal. Days, weeks and months blended together as time seemed to repeat itself on the lifeless plains. Flaking, unreadable signs jangling in the wind. Scribes huddling behind canvas flaps, shivering in a dry desert storm. Paladins wrenching stuffy helmets from their heads while cresting yet another hill, their reward nothing but additional miles of inhospitable wasteland. Stepping onto immemorial railway embankments and following the rusted and crumbling tracks towards the horizon. The scraping claws and slick black hides of unknown night terrors. Dreary pockets of habitation, bereft of culture and trust. And the great river, with its acrid morning mist and occasional automated foghorn blaring out its solemn warning to travellers of the distant past.
Then, finally, bleak plains giving way to the green Atlantic ridges. The Brotherhood now found themselves in a land of equal shares of promise and danger. At times they were watched in silence by mountain-dwellers from hidden abodes. At times they were greeted uneasily by villagers who were as eager for tales of distant regions as they were wary of the paladins’ heavy armaments. The scribes for their own part were able to piece together a history of the eastern lands as lurid and fabulous as the one they knew from their old home; with contentions, heroes, villains and conquests all of its own; decay and restoration in familiar cycles. But of all these stories, none was more puzzling and horrifying than the one that now led the Brotherhood inexorably and apprehensively towards the forbidden zone of the Capital Wasteland.
This jagged cityscape turned out to be in a constant state of free-for-all, lean gangs fighting each other over weapons and old technology until one group or another would gain the strength and drive to move briefly against more productive settlements. Here the Brotherhood for the first time ran into appreciable resistance and recorded their most biting losses. On the second day, their second-in-command fell victim to a frontal hit by a rocket-propelled grenade; after which they grew wary, but not wise enough to the ways of the enemy to keep from losing three knights to a cluster of booby traps.
Embittered and short on patience, they forged on to one of the wonders at the heart of this blasted place: the Pentagon. Once a bustling operational centre, this complex was now a twisted, crumbled maze of haunted corridors, vertiginous shafts and dusty crawlspaces, home to a community both lively and pathetic. These tunnel rats would pit themselves against defence systems and claustrophobia and stake their lives in a game and livelihood of scavenging. Constantly seeking to outdo each other, they would brave the bowels of the concrete and metal tomb to look for untrodden floors and safe passages. On the surface levels where they resided, key cards, tools, drugs and the necessities of life were ceaselessly traded between hands showing the scars from cutting metal, the deep burns of laser rays, or the flaking skin and discoloured nails of radiation sickness.
The Brotherhood, realizing they had found their new base of operations, decided to clean them all out of there.
Many of the scavengers were quickly displaced, others forcefully routed in almost as short order. Some of the most capable or strong-headed ones stuck fast, using their knowledge of the hidden ways in a quiet but spiteful guerilla war. The Brotherhood in their turn dug in as well as they could, clearing and securing what areas lay open to them, while looking out for any pieces of data or technology that the scavengers had not been able to comprehend or leech out. Only after fortifying themselves to satisfaction did they turn uneasy eyes towards the lower levels of the complex. In those depths, they imagined, they would find everything that they needed, along with that which could utterly destroy them. In the end, it didn’t seem like they had a choice. Even greater dangers were coming, and they would need to be prepared for all. Their long journey was over, but it seemed the nightmares of the Eastern Brotherhood had only just begun.
---
For anyone keeping score, these are the points I tried to hit:
* Who is this about? How do we connect the past to the future? Why are we dealing with THESE guys specifically?
* Working a reason for going all the way to DC into the text in such a way that the reader doesn't go "Wait, what" until it's too late.
* Evoking some of the old post-apocalyptic standbys in the trip across the Midwest there.
* Introducing a mildly original faction (the scavengers) that doesn't really match anything in the first two games.
* Answering the question why the Pentagon hadn't already been looted: it was, they just weren't done yet.
* The Brotherhood acting like assholes a little bit.
* Establishing an adventuring site in DC with multiple factions (the organized Brotherhood, the disorganized scavengers, the security systems and what else may be down there).
* Leaving the reader with a sense of mystery and menace and "man I want to check that out" (which is a bit cheap since I don't actually have to do the payoff).
Emil does at least one thing that I didn't and that's putting a human face on the Brotherhood and introducing a few named NPCs, but I could probably do that with 600 more words.
---
Times of fire breed men of steel. But in the calm that follows, such men may just as quickly fall out of favour with those who were previously depending on them and looking up to them. In a world where a bloated rancher behind his desk can wield more power than an armed and armoured warrior, there is little gratitude to be gained for standing guard against the ghosts of yesterday, against the unseen threats of tomorrow.
It was in such times that the Brotherhood of Steel, formerly a bastion of power and knowledge, turned increasingly back towards isolationism. Allying themselves with the burgeoning New California Republic had provided a measure of security in terms of campaigns and provisions, but also a growing threat in terms of identity. In their heyday, it was argued, the Brotherhood had fulfilled their preservationist and disciplinary ideals precisely by remaining closed to the outside world, commanded respect thanks to a combination of mystery and raw power. At this point the knowledge upon which they had relied was effectively being disseminated, whether they liked it or not, and a future was envisioned in which the Brotherhood had been marginalized to insignificance simply because they no longer safeguarded anything except old wisdom that no one would have. To the extent that they benefited others, they were at the same time rendering themselves obsolete. And while their collected knowledge could strengthen the growing civilization it was no safeguard against another fall.
In a very real sense, the Brotherhood could only _be_ the Brotherhood by purposely turning away from the rest of humanity and retaining whatever advantages remained to them. Merging into the hierarchies of the surrounding society, the members of the organization would live on, but their old purpose and ideals would be no more. Only in isolation could their distinctions and leverage be preserved. This appeal to both vanity and prudence quickly gained ground in the organization, not least among younger elements whose glowing nostalgia had not come at the cost of blood.
And so it was that, in the days following the fall of Vault City and the sacking of New Reno, the Brotherhood decided to go once more into seclusion. But the world around their Lost Hills headquarters was not the one it had been. Instead of scattered settlements with no deep affiliations, the land was now united into a single confederation, however unsteady. The Elders were not going to bet their future on the good graces of NCR magnates and their political puppets.
The solution? To establish something akin to a backup facility, a second home, a dwelling to mirror old roots and traditions, an abode out of reach of all known prospective enemies. To go east, treading the dead land under tireless boots. How far? As far as it goes.
Four platoons undertook this journey, bringing arms and tools and knowledge on an endless trek past the half-buried bones of old civilization. The cold fury of the mountains was only the beginning of this torturous ordeal. Days, weeks and months blended together as time seemed to repeat itself on the lifeless plains. Flaking, unreadable signs jangling in the wind. Scribes huddling behind canvas flaps, shivering in a dry desert storm. Paladins wrenching stuffy helmets from their heads while cresting yet another hill, their reward nothing but additional miles of inhospitable wasteland. Stepping onto immemorial railway embankments and following the rusted and crumbling tracks towards the horizon. The scraping claws and slick black hides of unknown night terrors. Dreary pockets of habitation, bereft of culture and trust. And the great river, with its acrid morning mist and occasional automated foghorn blaring out its solemn warning to travellers of the distant past.
Then, finally, bleak plains giving way to the green Atlantic ridges. The Brotherhood now found themselves in a land of equal shares of promise and danger. At times they were watched in silence by mountain-dwellers from hidden abodes. At times they were greeted uneasily by villagers who were as eager for tales of distant regions as they were wary of the paladins’ heavy armaments. The scribes for their own part were able to piece together a history of the eastern lands as lurid and fabulous as the one they knew from their old home; with contentions, heroes, villains and conquests all of its own; decay and restoration in familiar cycles. But of all these stories, none was more puzzling and horrifying than the one that now led the Brotherhood inexorably and apprehensively towards the forbidden zone of the Capital Wasteland.
This jagged cityscape turned out to be in a constant state of free-for-all, lean gangs fighting each other over weapons and old technology until one group or another would gain the strength and drive to move briefly against more productive settlements. Here the Brotherhood for the first time ran into appreciable resistance and recorded their most biting losses. On the second day, their second-in-command fell victim to a frontal hit by a rocket-propelled grenade; after which they grew wary, but not wise enough to the ways of the enemy to keep from losing three knights to a cluster of booby traps.
Embittered and short on patience, they forged on to one of the wonders at the heart of this blasted place: the Pentagon. Once a bustling operational centre, this complex was now a twisted, crumbled maze of haunted corridors, vertiginous shafts and dusty crawlspaces, home to a community both lively and pathetic. These tunnel rats would pit themselves against defence systems and claustrophobia and stake their lives in a game and livelihood of scavenging. Constantly seeking to outdo each other, they would brave the bowels of the concrete and metal tomb to look for untrodden floors and safe passages. On the surface levels where they resided, key cards, tools, drugs and the necessities of life were ceaselessly traded between hands showing the scars from cutting metal, the deep burns of laser rays, or the flaking skin and discoloured nails of radiation sickness.
The Brotherhood, realizing they had found their new base of operations, decided to clean them all out of there.
Many of the scavengers were quickly displaced, others forcefully routed in almost as short order. Some of the most capable or strong-headed ones stuck fast, using their knowledge of the hidden ways in a quiet but spiteful guerilla war. The Brotherhood in their turn dug in as well as they could, clearing and securing what areas lay open to them, while looking out for any pieces of data or technology that the scavengers had not been able to comprehend or leech out. Only after fortifying themselves to satisfaction did they turn uneasy eyes towards the lower levels of the complex. In those depths, they imagined, they would find everything that they needed, along with that which could utterly destroy them. In the end, it didn’t seem like they had a choice. Even greater dangers were coming, and they would need to be prepared for all. Their long journey was over, but it seemed the nightmares of the Eastern Brotherhood had only just begun.
---
For anyone keeping score, these are the points I tried to hit:
* Who is this about? How do we connect the past to the future? Why are we dealing with THESE guys specifically?
* Working a reason for going all the way to DC into the text in such a way that the reader doesn't go "Wait, what" until it's too late.
* Evoking some of the old post-apocalyptic standbys in the trip across the Midwest there.
* Introducing a mildly original faction (the scavengers) that doesn't really match anything in the first two games.
* Answering the question why the Pentagon hadn't already been looted: it was, they just weren't done yet.
* The Brotherhood acting like assholes a little bit.
* Establishing an adventuring site in DC with multiple factions (the organized Brotherhood, the disorganized scavengers, the security systems and what else may be down there).
* Leaving the reader with a sense of mystery and menace and "man I want to check that out" (which is a bit cheap since I don't actually have to do the payoff).
Emil does at least one thing that I didn't and that's putting a human face on the Brotherhood and introducing a few named NPCs, but I could probably do that with 600 more words.
