G
Guest
Guest
hey, i saw the poll and it says the fan fiction system is new... but it just looks like all the other boards, so whats new about it?
G
Guest
Guest
Absolutely nothing.. aside from the occasional fanfic thrown
Rosh is screwing over with our brains again.
http://mitchellwerkz.keenspace.com/images/grinner_button.gif
Rosh is screwing over with our brains again.
http://mitchellwerkz.keenspace.com/images/grinner_button.gif
G
Guest
Guest
damnit not again! (n/t)
no text
or is there!?!?!?!
no text
or is there!?!?!?!
G
Guest
Guest
*makes various strange choked gurgling sounds*
Someone really ought to start writing fanfiction again..
http://www.envy.nu/bpen/illuminati.jpg
Someone really ought to start writing fanfiction again..
http://www.envy.nu/bpen/illuminati.jpg
G
Guest
Guest
RE: *makes various strange choked gurgling sounds*
SOMEONE really should, shouldn't they Pencil.
::taps foot impatiently while looking at his watch::
So... what's stopping ya! Git goin'!
True Raven
http://www.annunakiguild.net
The Annunaki FanFic and Theory Guild
SOMEONE really should, shouldn't they Pencil.
::taps foot impatiently while looking at his watch::
So... what's stopping ya! Git goin'!
True Raven
http://www.annunakiguild.net
The Annunaki FanFic and Theory Guild
G
Guest
Guest
*urk!*
Here's a revised beta..
-------------------------
Chapter One -An Exile of Faith
"Through the ages, one thing still remains the same... the capacity of man
to torture himself in conscience, or to kill of such ethical considerations
altogether. You can either be a moral person, imprisoned in your own
self-imposed laws... or a beast."
-Fenris Bluhart, "Encyclopedia Apocalypa"
The post-nuclear world is as far from utopia as we can ever get. But even as
is, it's an ideal, a paradise in a sense. We are given a chance to make a
fresh start. Our ruination is of our own making, and when we stand up from
the ashes, it will come through sheer perspiration and perseverance.
It's a bright new world out there... too bright, even.
And frankly speaking, Simon Cati was sick to the bone with it.
"Up early, Father?", the boy asked him when he limped out of the damp place
that was his bedroom. Ugh. Pneumonia. A grisly, painful death. No... please
Lord, no.. though it's what I deserve.
He looked outside, through the cracked colorful glass. Ugh. Everything.. too
bright.. too cheery. Can't an old man just stew with misery without the world
barging in?! "Switch on the radio..", he told the boy. He hoped there would
be something interesting on the news.
He listened with bored fascination as it sputtered to life, Oh, God save Fenris
Bluhart, wherever he is now!, he silently cried. He was the one who encouraged
the revival of mass communication. Suddenly, everyone couldn't remember how
they used to survive the silence before the Husia Communications Tower was built.
Others may look on it as someform of intenerant magic.. that was the only way
they knew of how voices could be carried thousand of miles in the air. The boy
did, at least.. he knew this for a fact.
He built the device himself, that radio, a long time ago. At first, he used it
to intercept snatches of BOS conversation. He knew that the only magic in it,
was the news, the reports of what great folly man always has in motion.
"Another caravan gone missing..", he sighed after a while. "Who do you think did
it, Rakhal?"
The boy shrugged."Don't know.. don't care. What's the use of it? Whoever has the
loot won't share any with me.. no use yearning for lost riches that were never
mine."
He laughed lightly.. it was more series of choked gasps than anything else. "You
have been taught well..", he remarked. "But don't you have any ideals whatsover?"
"I'm not old enough to have ideals..", the child replied.
The old priest shook his head. "How lucky you are.."
Rakhal turned away, this turn in the conversation was always uncomfortable. Even
though he was just ten years old, he the awareness in him was almost too heavy
at times. After all, how many children were still 'all right' after seeing all
his family slaughtered in front of him, simply because a mob didn't like the
way his name sounded, and the way he wouldn't give his hard-earned money.
And Rakhal Bhaalji used to be such a dreamer.
What a pair we make!, the priest thought. An old man and a child, both helpless,
both seeing nightmares in their waking days..
He felt something hot being pressed against his hands. He held it gently with
both his shaky hands, and lifted the cup to his lips. Hesitantly, he took a
draught of the corn syrup. It was sweet, warm, and revitalizing..
More inane news came from the radio... "President Wilson of NCR has made another
impassioned speech denouncing the expansion of New Arroyo Republic southward.
He cautions NAR to not test the might of NCR. Also, he rebukes them for not
giving support to the Brotherhood of Steel. 'Have they no sense of gratitude or
their politics with even a shred of decency?!', he was quoted to say. 'How dare
they use this war as a means to grab more land!'"
"New Reno launches an effort to curb their rising crime rate. With the lack of
adequate policing from New California's regime... gunrunning is once again
rampant." He snorted silently. Since WHEN was gunrunning not all over the Wastes?
Hell, the town store as much in ammo as it did in everday necessities..
"San Francisco sends more Deliverance Throngs, the new post-nuclear Red Cross."
Bland news... , Father Cati thought.
He tuned out the meaning behind the words, and just contented to let the
melodious voice of the announcer roll over him. How things have changed.. how
things have changed!
"There was a clash between the Brotherhood, in the valley right below the nuetral
town of Harmony Grounds. Though many were killed there was no clear victor."
Ah! Now that sparked his interest..
He could imagine those people, fighting, like ants in their sheer numbers.. like
ants in the mindless tidal fury.. and like ants, they were buried under.
Broadcasters seemed such a boring lot, he could also see them, a bunch of stolid
scholars, keeping to the fatal duty of "Keeping Knowledge Pure", as Fenris Bluhart
had first established. The delivery of their 'vital knowledge' was always the
same, a sing-song intonation... no matter wheter it's about a new scientific
(re)discovery or a grisly murder or a mundane caravan run schedule... we live
merely to serve and inform, they said.
But even before the next bit was said, there was something that warned him something
was wrong. Perhaps it was that moment's hesitation, a strange quaver as it began..
maybe even divine insight?!
"It has come to our attention..", the nameless man started. "That an event of
great calamity has befallen the border town of Sanctity. The town has LITERALLY
been wiped off the map.. only flat rubble remains on what used to be a progressive
farming community. New Arroyo, on which it borders on, has denied attacking the
town. We have not been able to get the reactions of the leaders of the Independent
Utah coalition at Tabernacle Flats, as they are also in the midst of a small
civil war at the moment.
His head jerked to the rusted contraption. Isn't that the place where they sent..!
"There have been no survivors..."
And Rakhal, agile child that he is, caught him as his vision faltered, and he
pitched forward. The cup fell to the tile floor, shattering and spilling dark brown
liquid... the boy called out to him frantically, but his cries went unheard as the
priest was enmeshed in his own personal hell..
And once again, Fate works against Simon Cati...
---------
Darrow streched out lazily, and bellowed out a yawn at the town. Passers-by glared
at him, for making such a horrid sound. He ignored them, and tensed his body to get
rid of the sleep-hold, and to warm himself.
The sun was a quarter up the sky, and while the desert was already ablur by the heat
on the horizon, he still felt a bit of a chill. He was born in the deepest hellcenter
of the Salt Lake area, and as far as things went, he could never be warm enough
outside his home.
The heat creeped steadily, a degree down every day, and what had been a brisk morning
has started to become far too cold. "This is the Word: As he that taketh away a garment
in cold weather, and as vinegar upon nitre, so is he that singeth songs to an heavy
heart..", he whispered to himself as he strode out his rusted home, and into the
town.
It was nothing more than a few rows of old, crumbly buildings. The largest structure
was a square block of brick and dried mud. This was the storehouse, and around it
were gathered a score of people, weariness etched permanently on their faces.
Ensure was a refugee town.
He walked among the refuse of the land. Most of them came from the fringe towns along
the border between New Arroyo and New Califonia. In the eyes of some, he could still
see hope, but most were resigned to the fact that the towns they used to live in were
probably already razed and burned to the ground, or under the unbreakable hold of either
of the two Brotherhood of Steel armies.
Darrow stretched out once more, the tattered old trenchcoat he found in the shack he
was staying in felt like lead on his shoulders. As he passed by the storehouse and
the people clustered around it, waiting for the daily handout... several children
screamed and ran away from him. With the morning light, he gave the appearance of
bearishness.
The cantina was inside the hollowed-out ruin of what used to be a diner. Half the chairs
were gone, and the rest were makeshift planks of wood for people to sit on. There were
still a few booths in usable condition, and behind the stained counter was the pretty
proprietress.
And seated beside her on the counter, buttering cornbread, was her soon to be brother-in
-law. "Hey Darrow!", the child said cheerily. "You're up late.. you look funny. Benny's
late too.. he should have arrived two days ago."
"Urgh.,", he replied with as much intelligence as he could muster. Damn this hangover.
"Beer. Do I have a headache...? I need beer. Don't worry."
Tobie jumped down, and went into the back room. "Got ya.", he said."I'm not worried. He
PROMISED. And he won't ever go back on his promise."
"Beer?"
Rebecca rolled her eyes. "Yeah, yeah... good thing someone's paying for you. Your debt's
already too fuckin' big, you know that?!"
"Watch your mouth, woman.", he growled. She's been increasingly bitchy each day."It's not
my fault your 'husband to be' is delayed. Again. One might think he wasn't coming."
She growled at him and pointed to a booth near the back of the room. He flinched, as
abuzz his head was, the pain in here eyes remained clear.
Someone sat at the seat facing the door. A slight, nervous-looking man who hid his face
in his hands. "New guy.. he was looking for you.", she said in a shakily-restrained voice.
Darrow nodded. He knew this man.
"Margaret..", he turned to her as he walked towards the back, and tried to place as much
symphathy in one look as he could.
"What?"
"Forgive me..I will pray. The Lord will keep him safe. He will arrive.."
"Fuck off, Darrow.", she said tonelessly. "We've had this discussion before. What use
are your words, where were you, where was He, when I was a slave?! Go talk to the
pissant, and just ..leave me alone.. I'm waitin' for Benny."
-
"Brother Darrow!" the man cried as he sat down. He was wearing a shiny suit of leather
armor, trying to look like a sesoned adventurer and failing utterly. He had the look of
a fish of water, his eyes darted like slivers of panic.
"Who are you?", he asked. "Who sent you here? Say the wrong thing and I'll feed you your
liver."
He winced, damned hangover. "Thank you for picking up my tab, by the way."
"Pay no mind, Brother Darrow! It's the least I can do for a.. warrior of God." He
made an obviously practiced flamboyant gesture. "I am Layman Federick, and I come with
a message form from the Tabernacle."
Mentally, Darrow renamed the man, impolite as it may be. Fish-face. His face was thin and
flat, and his eyes were set too far apart. There was a glassy look to them, the kind he
once wore, of a obsessive naivete. Also, there was arrogance.
"... and where the.. hey! Darrow?" The man shook his shoulder. "Stay awake, these are
important things that I must give you."
He snapped awake, and snarled at Fish-face. He jumped back in surprise, sudden fear on
his face.
"God!", Fish-face thought. "They were right to send him
http://www.envy.nu/bpen/illuminati.jpg
Here's a revised beta..
-------------------------
Chapter One -An Exile of Faith
"Through the ages, one thing still remains the same... the capacity of man
to torture himself in conscience, or to kill of such ethical considerations
altogether. You can either be a moral person, imprisoned in your own
self-imposed laws... or a beast."
-Fenris Bluhart, "Encyclopedia Apocalypa"
The post-nuclear world is as far from utopia as we can ever get. But even as
is, it's an ideal, a paradise in a sense. We are given a chance to make a
fresh start. Our ruination is of our own making, and when we stand up from
the ashes, it will come through sheer perspiration and perseverance.
It's a bright new world out there... too bright, even.
And frankly speaking, Simon Cati was sick to the bone with it.
"Up early, Father?", the boy asked him when he limped out of the damp place
that was his bedroom. Ugh. Pneumonia. A grisly, painful death. No... please
Lord, no.. though it's what I deserve.
He looked outside, through the cracked colorful glass. Ugh. Everything.. too
bright.. too cheery. Can't an old man just stew with misery without the world
barging in?! "Switch on the radio..", he told the boy. He hoped there would
be something interesting on the news.
He listened with bored fascination as it sputtered to life, Oh, God save Fenris
Bluhart, wherever he is now!, he silently cried. He was the one who encouraged
the revival of mass communication. Suddenly, everyone couldn't remember how
they used to survive the silence before the Husia Communications Tower was built.
Others may look on it as someform of intenerant magic.. that was the only way
they knew of how voices could be carried thousand of miles in the air. The boy
did, at least.. he knew this for a fact.
He built the device himself, that radio, a long time ago. At first, he used it
to intercept snatches of BOS conversation. He knew that the only magic in it,
was the news, the reports of what great folly man always has in motion.
"Another caravan gone missing..", he sighed after a while. "Who do you think did
it, Rakhal?"
The boy shrugged."Don't know.. don't care. What's the use of it? Whoever has the
loot won't share any with me.. no use yearning for lost riches that were never
mine."
He laughed lightly.. it was more series of choked gasps than anything else. "You
have been taught well..", he remarked. "But don't you have any ideals whatsover?"
"I'm not old enough to have ideals..", the child replied.
The old priest shook his head. "How lucky you are.."
Rakhal turned away, this turn in the conversation was always uncomfortable. Even
though he was just ten years old, he the awareness in him was almost too heavy
at times. After all, how many children were still 'all right' after seeing all
his family slaughtered in front of him, simply because a mob didn't like the
way his name sounded, and the way he wouldn't give his hard-earned money.
And Rakhal Bhaalji used to be such a dreamer.
What a pair we make!, the priest thought. An old man and a child, both helpless,
both seeing nightmares in their waking days..
He felt something hot being pressed against his hands. He held it gently with
both his shaky hands, and lifted the cup to his lips. Hesitantly, he took a
draught of the corn syrup. It was sweet, warm, and revitalizing..
More inane news came from the radio... "President Wilson of NCR has made another
impassioned speech denouncing the expansion of New Arroyo Republic southward.
He cautions NAR to not test the might of NCR. Also, he rebukes them for not
giving support to the Brotherhood of Steel. 'Have they no sense of gratitude or
their politics with even a shred of decency?!', he was quoted to say. 'How dare
they use this war as a means to grab more land!'"
"New Reno launches an effort to curb their rising crime rate. With the lack of
adequate policing from New California's regime... gunrunning is once again
rampant." He snorted silently. Since WHEN was gunrunning not all over the Wastes?
Hell, the town store as much in ammo as it did in everday necessities..
"San Francisco sends more Deliverance Throngs, the new post-nuclear Red Cross."
Bland news... , Father Cati thought.
He tuned out the meaning behind the words, and just contented to let the
melodious voice of the announcer roll over him. How things have changed.. how
things have changed!
"There was a clash between the Brotherhood, in the valley right below the nuetral
town of Harmony Grounds. Though many were killed there was no clear victor."
Ah! Now that sparked his interest..
He could imagine those people, fighting, like ants in their sheer numbers.. like
ants in the mindless tidal fury.. and like ants, they were buried under.
Broadcasters seemed such a boring lot, he could also see them, a bunch of stolid
scholars, keeping to the fatal duty of "Keeping Knowledge Pure", as Fenris Bluhart
had first established. The delivery of their 'vital knowledge' was always the
same, a sing-song intonation... no matter wheter it's about a new scientific
(re)discovery or a grisly murder or a mundane caravan run schedule... we live
merely to serve and inform, they said.
But even before the next bit was said, there was something that warned him something
was wrong. Perhaps it was that moment's hesitation, a strange quaver as it began..
maybe even divine insight?!
"It has come to our attention..", the nameless man started. "That an event of
great calamity has befallen the border town of Sanctity. The town has LITERALLY
been wiped off the map.. only flat rubble remains on what used to be a progressive
farming community. New Arroyo, on which it borders on, has denied attacking the
town. We have not been able to get the reactions of the leaders of the Independent
Utah coalition at Tabernacle Flats, as they are also in the midst of a small
civil war at the moment.
His head jerked to the rusted contraption. Isn't that the place where they sent..!
"There have been no survivors..."
And Rakhal, agile child that he is, caught him as his vision faltered, and he
pitched forward. The cup fell to the tile floor, shattering and spilling dark brown
liquid... the boy called out to him frantically, but his cries went unheard as the
priest was enmeshed in his own personal hell..
And once again, Fate works against Simon Cati...
---------
Darrow streched out lazily, and bellowed out a yawn at the town. Passers-by glared
at him, for making such a horrid sound. He ignored them, and tensed his body to get
rid of the sleep-hold, and to warm himself.
The sun was a quarter up the sky, and while the desert was already ablur by the heat
on the horizon, he still felt a bit of a chill. He was born in the deepest hellcenter
of the Salt Lake area, and as far as things went, he could never be warm enough
outside his home.
The heat creeped steadily, a degree down every day, and what had been a brisk morning
has started to become far too cold. "This is the Word: As he that taketh away a garment
in cold weather, and as vinegar upon nitre, so is he that singeth songs to an heavy
heart..", he whispered to himself as he strode out his rusted home, and into the
town.
It was nothing more than a few rows of old, crumbly buildings. The largest structure
was a square block of brick and dried mud. This was the storehouse, and around it
were gathered a score of people, weariness etched permanently on their faces.
Ensure was a refugee town.
He walked among the refuse of the land. Most of them came from the fringe towns along
the border between New Arroyo and New Califonia. In the eyes of some, he could still
see hope, but most were resigned to the fact that the towns they used to live in were
probably already razed and burned to the ground, or under the unbreakable hold of either
of the two Brotherhood of Steel armies.
Darrow stretched out once more, the tattered old trenchcoat he found in the shack he
was staying in felt like lead on his shoulders. As he passed by the storehouse and
the people clustered around it, waiting for the daily handout... several children
screamed and ran away from him. With the morning light, he gave the appearance of
bearishness.
The cantina was inside the hollowed-out ruin of what used to be a diner. Half the chairs
were gone, and the rest were makeshift planks of wood for people to sit on. There were
still a few booths in usable condition, and behind the stained counter was the pretty
proprietress.
And seated beside her on the counter, buttering cornbread, was her soon to be brother-in
-law. "Hey Darrow!", the child said cheerily. "You're up late.. you look funny. Benny's
late too.. he should have arrived two days ago."
"Urgh.,", he replied with as much intelligence as he could muster. Damn this hangover.
"Beer. Do I have a headache...? I need beer. Don't worry."
Tobie jumped down, and went into the back room. "Got ya.", he said."I'm not worried. He
PROMISED. And he won't ever go back on his promise."
"Beer?"
Rebecca rolled her eyes. "Yeah, yeah... good thing someone's paying for you. Your debt's
already too fuckin' big, you know that?!"
"Watch your mouth, woman.", he growled. She's been increasingly bitchy each day."It's not
my fault your 'husband to be' is delayed. Again. One might think he wasn't coming."
She growled at him and pointed to a booth near the back of the room. He flinched, as
abuzz his head was, the pain in here eyes remained clear.
Someone sat at the seat facing the door. A slight, nervous-looking man who hid his face
in his hands. "New guy.. he was looking for you.", she said in a shakily-restrained voice.
Darrow nodded. He knew this man.
"Margaret..", he turned to her as he walked towards the back, and tried to place as much
symphathy in one look as he could.
"What?"
"Forgive me..I will pray. The Lord will keep him safe. He will arrive.."
"Fuck off, Darrow.", she said tonelessly. "We've had this discussion before. What use
are your words, where were you, where was He, when I was a slave?! Go talk to the
pissant, and just ..leave me alone.. I'm waitin' for Benny."
-
"Brother Darrow!" the man cried as he sat down. He was wearing a shiny suit of leather
armor, trying to look like a sesoned adventurer and failing utterly. He had the look of
a fish of water, his eyes darted like slivers of panic.
"Who are you?", he asked. "Who sent you here? Say the wrong thing and I'll feed you your
liver."
He winced, damned hangover. "Thank you for picking up my tab, by the way."
"Pay no mind, Brother Darrow! It's the least I can do for a.. warrior of God." He
made an obviously practiced flamboyant gesture. "I am Layman Federick, and I come with
a message form from the Tabernacle."
Mentally, Darrow renamed the man, impolite as it may be. Fish-face. His face was thin and
flat, and his eyes were set too far apart. There was a glassy look to them, the kind he
once wore, of a obsessive naivete. Also, there was arrogance.
"... and where the.. hey! Darrow?" The man shook his shoulder. "Stay awake, these are
important things that I must give you."
He snapped awake, and snarled at Fish-face. He jumped back in surprise, sudden fear on
his face.
"God!", Fish-face thought. "They were right to send him
http://www.envy.nu/bpen/illuminati.jpg
G
Guest
Guest
Grrrrrrrrrr....
How long were you keeping this from us? Damnation, here we are sitting around waiting for someone to write a bit and the freakin' BluePencil has a wonderful fic collecting dust on his HD.
Thanks for breakin' the slump Ol' Bean! We appreciate it.
How long were you keeping this from us? Damnation, here we are sitting around waiting for someone to write a bit and the freakin' BluePencil has a wonderful fic collecting dust on his HD.
Thanks for breakin' the slump Ol' Bean! We appreciate it.