Welcome to Gaia! ::

After wondering out the gates of the BoS, Krone had been wondering aimlessly in the wastes. A small grin on his face he took a sip from the giant metal flask in his left hand. "Hmmmm, I wish i knew who i was..." he questioned everything now and days, Right now he wanted to get into a fist fight with a deathclaw. 'Like a bullet to the head but alot faster in this case...' He thought to himself and continued walking slowly into the wastes. 'Wonder who i will meet...' he thought after looking around for something to do.

((I'M BORED! And I've also wanted to do something like this for a while now.))
It was Brutus' day off. Every so often, after performing well and doing the tasks set before him, the higher ups would allow him to leave the bunker for a day. This was certainly testament to the trust bestowed upon as of late. He could recall when he first joined the BoS: not trusted, unworthy, hated and feared by all... except Lyanah.
He chose to take a walk today. Truth be told, he would often stay in the base even on his days off working in the forge getting projects done or experimenting with new things. He felt compelled to leave the base today, and since it was slightly cooler than usual, he figured it wouldn't be a bad idea to take a nice long walk. He exited the barracks doors and walked westward, leaving his armor behind but his ripper strapped to his waist.
The sun beat down on him like the countless days of the past, but he had grown accustomed to such a punishment. It was strangely colder than most days, or maybe it was just him. Regardless, something was different about today. He passed caves and hills, plateaus and large patches of dead grass. The wasteland was beautiful place indeed. After walking for many hours, Brutus finally came to stop on top of a hill, a dead tree planted at its peak. He sat under the tree and rested for a few moments, looking out into the distance, the familiar fog creeping back into his mind. With a sigh he injected psycho into his system, allowing him to see once more.
A noise rang out in the distance; it sounded like a gun shot or small explosion. Brutus stood and strained his eyes to see as far as possible into the valley that lay on the opposite side of the hill from which he approached. A small village comprised of tents and shacks lay there, and there was a great deal of smoke trailing to the clouds above. Deciding that his break was over, Brutus began to move quickly towards the village.
He was upon it in minutes, stopping briefly to catch his breath.
"I... Hate.... Running..."
Looking up, Brutus could see men with spears standing outside the village, and opposite of them was a charging mob of what appeared to be raiders. The men and women clad in spikes and chains bore crude guns in tandem with sledgehammers, tire irons and other random tools. Those with guns opened up from a distance at the tribals, many of them finding their mark. All but one tribal that still stood shook with fear. The fearless one held his resilience, his long hair flowing gently in the breeze, with the many necklaces made of small animal bone that hung loosely around his neck. His skin was a very dark shade of tan, and his eyes were a dark green. He held his spear in one hand, raising above his head and shouting at the top of his lungs. He led the charge, being the first one to dash toward the enemy. The others followed shortly there after. They were outnumbered two to one, and it seemed as if the fearless one knew that they were all going to die.
Brutus couldn’t stand by and simply watch this horribly weighted battle take place. He charged down the small incline that was left, entering the valley where the two sides collided. The air filled with shouts of agony, blood and guts. Both sides were so focused on each other that Brutus entered the fray unbeknownst to any of the combatants until he revved the engine of his freshly drawn blade. He cut deep into the side of one raider; his weapon firing wildly and he screamed and fell to the ground.
Both sides stopped briefly as they witnessed the third party enter the fight. One of the raiders closest to Brutus saw the symbol seared into his flesh and shouted
"s**t! I didn’t know them Brotherhood guys had territory out here!"
Brutus shook his head slowly but did not reply verbally. Instead, he lopped the head off of the raider, gore spewing all over his comrades to his right and left. The whole raider group seemed to shutter at once before they resumed attacking. Brutus addressed the tribals,
"Come! Fight against this scum of the earth! Send their souls to the great one and deny them a warrior's death!"
Another raider approached him to his left, but was beaten back by Brutus' left hand, a mighty punch landing square against his jaw. Two came from the right as his back was turned. They pounced on his exposed back, one stabbing a knife deep into Brutus' skin, the other shooting his desert eagle wildly. Brutus grunted in pain as he whipped around, sending the man with the knife flying to Brutus left. Bringing his chainsword down, he hacked the raider with the gun's arm off. He fell to ground, cradling his bloody stump to his chest. The raider that was thrown off of him scrambled to his feet and picked up his comrade’s gun. He began to fire at Brutus, getting three shots off before he was answered with a small *click*. The gun was empty. Brutus shook his head and picked the man up, wrapping a mighty hand around his face.
"You cowards and your guns."
He squeezed hard, at first the man squirmed under his hand, which quickly turned into writing in pain. Within seconds there was a loud *smush!* as the raider's head caved in. The writing and muffled screams stopped, his body limp.
Meanwhile, the fearless one was as confounded as the others in the skirmish. He devoted little thought to the mutant's appearance; it wasn’t the time to think about it. He squared off with a raider wielding a club. The raider shouted curse words and called the tribal names. While he was busy talking, the Fearless one ran forward and buried his spear into the raider's chest. He fell to the ground, out of the fight. Another approached the fearless on, he too wielded a spear. The fearless one examined it and noticed it was one the spears his fellow tribesman wielded. He gave a disgusted look to the raider as he parried on of his thrusts. He skillfully pushed the shaft of the enemy's spear aside and replied with the head of his own spear. It became buried in the raider's skull.
The battle went on for countless minutes. It was apparent to Brutus that it would not have been going as well as it was if he hadn’t intervened. Both sides had taken heavy losses, but the raiders had the most of the two. One of the raiders shouted "Retreat!" and the massive crowd followed suit. The fleeing raiders cursed at Brutus and the tribals. Brutus wasn’t going to take this. As the three raiders he had been fighting began to run (or more accurately, hobble) away, he chased after them. He felled them all with three separate swings of his sword, hacking of the legs of one, chopping one in half diagonally and smacking the other one to the ground with a mighty back handed slap.
"Stand and fight COWARDS!"
He began to chase after the rest of the fleeing mob, but realized that he was far too slow to catch up with them. He breathed heavily and slowed to a stop.
The tribals had begun to get the wounded to safety and prepare the dead bodies for burial. Brutus sheathed his weapon and slowly walked over to the fearless one who was moving his lips without speaking. He knelt down over a dead tribal and seemed to be praying. Brutus stopped his approach a few feet away and looked away, he didn’t want to interrupt. The fearless one finished, and looked up slowly until his eyes met Brutus'. He narrowed his eyes and slowly rose. His approach towards Brutus was slow, but not because he had been wounded. He seemed extremely angry or upset in some way, but Brutus couldn’t think of why.
"Hello, I am Brutus the Dehumanized, Senior Knight of the Brotherhood of Steel. I was passing by and saw you were horribly outnumbered, so I decided to help."
The fearless one didn’t stop scowling at Brutus. Instead he slowly paced around to Brutus' back, noticing the knife that still stuck out of his back. He ripped the blade from Brutus back. He showed the combat knife covered in blood to Brutus, then threw it to the ground before turning his back and picking up his fallen comrade's body. Brutus looked at the knife on the ground and shuttered a little. He moved a hand to his back as if to scratch an itch. His hand came back bloody.
Deciding they needed some more help, Brutus began to pick up the dead bodies of the fallen tribesman and brought them into town. He could have carried half a dozen of them in one trip, but realized they deserved the honor of being carried separately. After this was done, Brutus began to make his way to the village's entrance so he could be on his way. A soft voice piped up.
"Wait."
Brutus turned; it was the fearless one. It was obvious he didn’t speak the same language as Brutus very well, but Brutus turned to face him. The man still held his spear in one hand, the body of his fallen comrade leaning on his opposite shoulder. They both had a distinct tattoo on their left cheek resembling a bear paw. Brutus guessed they were related somehow. The fearless one stuck the pole of his spear in the ground and kissed the dead man's corpse on the forehead before retrieving the spear in his hand again and pointing it towards the surrounding villagers. Women, children and babies emerged from their tents to look at the mutant. It was apparent they were all frightened to a degree.
"These are your people, your family, your loved ones."
Brutus seemed to understand, even though no words were exchanged. There was a long moment of silence before a very old woman shuffled forward from a tent, adorned in animal bones from head to toe. Her pale skin, wizened face and misty eyes suggested she was the shaman, healer, soothsayer or otherwise leader of the tribe. Brutus bowed his head slowly in respect. She moved to his back, much like the fearless one had before. She touched his open wound and began to chant in some bizarre language. Brutus winced as she applied something to the deep gash. A calming wave of warmth, then cold flowed from hi feet to his head.
The woman backed away, mumbled something tot he Fearless one and with the help of another tribal took the corpse back to her tent. The fearless one pointed to Brutus with his spear's head and then made a "move back" motion by holding the spear in two hands out in front of him parallel to Brutus and walking forward. Brutus turned and walked out of the village, then turned to see the fearless one had followed him.
*To be continued*

Unslinging the gauss minigun from his back, he stood and walked out between the two vehicles, finger already depressed on the trigger, the barrels starting to spin, warming up. Energy blasts washed over his armor, melting the front of the power armor and shoulder areas, the chain dissolving away that held the black cape in place on his back, it blowing away in the wind, the golden Brotherhood symbol being sent up into the winds, like a sign of defiance. The minigun flared, spewing the high powered rounds across the settlement's square while the figure wielding it kept advancing, feeling the extreme heat of energy weapons against his chest, knowing his armor can't hold out forever. Waving the minigun in a wide arc back and forth, it tore apart the ghouls that survived the plasma grenade. Rounds slammed into decayed chests, splitting spines, sending their upper bodies crashing to the gritty terrain while their legs still wobbled unattached before falling, joining their other halves. Limbs blew violently off, scattering across the clearing, screams of pain could be heard, the firing on the black figure holding the bringer in death in his hands slowly decreased for the time being until it stopped completely.

Slumping down to his knees, half crouched, one hand outstretched and palm in the dirt, he breathed hard, knowing the heat from the melted armor plating had severely burned his flesh, even seared it to the armor inside, he took a quick evaluation of his condition. For the most part, he was all right, armor severely damaged and the air hose connecting to his helmet was melted away, he'd have to repair it at some point, for now, it left a large hold where the coupling was, so oxygen was still getting into the helmet, despite it being gritty air from the wasteland. After taking a breather, he stood back up, to those viewing him, he'd look like a defiant figure, refusing to give up in such a devastated world.

After a moment, he heard screams...human screams, there were others here. He slung the minigun back over his shoulder and unholstered the gauss shotgun from where it was strapped to his leg. He took off at a jog, giving the shotgun a pump of the handle, jacking in a shell, and headed towards the screams. The screams came from a decent sized building that looked like it was hastily welded together, the panels rusted, but sturdy. He didn't hesitate, he kicked the door off it's hinges with a heavy armored foot and strode in, turning the barrel towards a surprised ghoul just inside of the doorway and let off a round it's it's sternum, the flechettes tearing apart the ghoul's upper half and sending it's ruined body against the wall from the force. There were several ghouls in the room, but most surprisingly of all, was a large single cell taking up the majority of the building that had human captives locked inside, the ghouls were shooting them through the bars and it was some half eating bodies hanging from shackles on the wall...so the ghouls were cannibalistic too it seems. The startled ghouls reigned in their focus and turned the attention to the newcomer, letting fly fairly ineffective rounds from hunting rifles and even one running at him with a spiked baseball bat. Sending off a shot, the flechettes spread, mangling the bodies of two ghouls while the one at the baseball bat took a hard swing, splintering the bat across the helmet on Ender's head. Swinging an arm, he knocked the ghouls against the wall and tightened his hand into a fist, then with a quick thrust, punched a hole through the ghouls chest, the body going limp around his forearm. Raising the ghoul off the ground, he held it in front of him while using the armpit of the corpse to pump the shotgun, then aimed with a single hand, sending another ghoul to it's grave, while advancing on the few remaining. A shot caught him on his exposed calf, making him go down to one knee and dropping the tattered corpse he had been holding to the ground. Gritting his teeth, he ejected the empty shell and took aim at a ghoul's head, then let a round fly, the scattered, but powerful round taking the ghoul's head off, leaving the body to slump to the floor.

Dropping the shotgun, he pulled one of the Scorpio machine pistols from it's holster and sprayed the area, making quick work of the remaining ghouls in the room. Pulling himself up, he limped ahead, looking back, he saw that the door he had kicked in had crushed a ghoul underneath, crushed. He struggled to the cell door, raised the machine pistol toward the lock and let off a volley, blowing the lock apart, the empty casings clattering across the floor. The humans inside cowered, but looked with hope at this stranger who killed their tormentors, the figure who stood in completely black armor, his commanding presence shouting dangerous, but yet with a sense of honor, this was a man who could save them, this was a man who could move mountains and save them from their fate.

"Who are you mister?", one little girl dressed in dirty rags asked.

Ender swiveled his head towards the little girl and addressed her like an equal, the yellow eyes of the helmet glowing like a demon, maybe a demon let loose to tear apart the wicked. "I am Elder Ender from The Brotherhood of Steel, you are safe, for now, quickly, come with me or stay and die." Then strode away from the doors with a bad limp that must have been hurting him, but not a sound of weakness came from him, the people followed.

As he walked towards the doorway, he picked up the empty shotgun and strapped it back to his armored leg and unslung the RPG launcher. He saw ghouls running down the narrow path towards the building, shooting as they ran in their sluggish way. He stepped in front of the people behind him, taking the gunshots, to shield them as much as possible and hit the trigger, not losing a step as a rocket propelled grenade hit dead center of the running ghouls, blowing them apart and sending their pieces showering all over the sides of ruined buildings.

"Quickly now, there may be more.", he said in a monotone voice to the scared people behind him, them being stunned at the sheer firepower and amount of violence the man was using to protect them.

-Two Weeks Later-

A strange vehicle comes rolling towards the base, sparks flying from metal grinding against metal. It looked like an APC, but it was deformed from the piece of scrap metal welded making up one entire side. The vehicle slowly went through the gates on towards the armory.

((Continued in the BOS Armory))

((brutus pmmed me and requested i finish his final post here in the guild...and save his a** if i wanted...i will honor that request...and theres no way in hell he's going down like that..."lyanah would be better off" my a**...))

He was thrown off-balance by either the weight of whatever it was in his head that he'd decided he must do or the surge of enemies that had swelled in front of him as his brothers and sisters came up alongside him. He was not fighting as he should. The shadows of his dreams were clouding his head, making it impossible for him to concentrate, and the truth was he was no longer trying. The fight that was in him hadn't burned away but had changed. And in this battle he hadn't come to win or even to help...he came to lose.

Bullets and shrapnel came at him from all sides but he ignored them, persisting to fight on in the aid of his brothers and sisters who looked on in slight fear and sadness at their comrade. There was no mistaking his intentions. Brutus, their great warrior, the voice that shouted above all and called for a unity amongst them, had fallen silent.

This was not as it should be.

The raiders persisted to push the brotherhood back and Brutus remained, fighting in place, pushing ever closer to the center of their enemies. Behind him there were shouts, crys for him to fall back in with his comrades, but they fell on deaf ears. His muscles were giving out. He'd made peace with his decision, if in fact it could even be called that. Every second a new injury was sustained, slight though it may be, and every second that much of his life force just began to ebb away. One of the raiders grew tired of this sport and began aiming at the brothers and sisters once more; but brutus, beaten down though he was, still could remember. He could remember that that couldnt happen. He couldn't let that happen. Even in his silence, even in the confines of his mutated and tortured mind, even as he was nearing the final stages of the life he'd come to know and towards the end despise, he knew that in the end he couldn't let THEM hurt his brothers and sisters. His end was not suppose to be their end as well, but their life.

In anger brutus's fist came down on the raiders skull with a sickening crunch and the being crumpled instantly and lifelessly to the floor. Swinging his hand off to the side it made contact with the front of anothers face and he fell screaming dieing away to nothingness. For a moment...that fire that had brought life to the brotherhood for so long...for a moment that was back...

Then came the shadows again...and his footing faultered...the shadows that beckoned him closer...closer to death...closer to dispair and loneliness...and farther from all of those he loved and cared about. They pulled at him, his waking nightmare, pulling him onward into the throng of now angry raiders, he opened his mouth to scream...and for a moment he thought that he was. That this was it. As the nightmares passed through his waking vision and the raiders persisted to chop away at what was his current existance he could hear the scream of agony..hurt..anger..and betrayal...and thats when he knew it wasn't him screaming...

His enormouse heart skipped several beats and those tears that had visited him so suddenly in the bunker beat their way out now. A few startled raiders looked up and the brothers and sisters took advantage of this momentary confusion to swell foreward, but Brutus turned to look behind them at a lone figure standing not far off on one of the numerous swells of sand. He stood still, and for once the raiders ignored him, otherwised occupied with the newly roused brotherhood. The being standing alone looked only at Brutus, the scream stopped, and Brutus fell to his knees. As if on cue the lone figure broke into a sprint for the center of the throng, for a moment...a wild and crazy moment...brutus thought that it was coming for him.

The tears streamed down his big broad cheeks as he deftly tried to move people aside so he could see. The figure was now not far off, and there was a fury there he'd never seen before. There was a merciless brutality...a complete and total loss of self control...that Brutus had never bore witness to himself though he was sure that he'd fought that way before.

And the figure persisted. It cut down all those in its path, shoving past the brotherhood, twisting amongst its foes and cutting them down. Dancing with death itself, and winning. The raiders recognized that there was a new force come to play and it wasn't one that they could handle easily, they pushed foreward but dispite the bits of shrapnel being imbedded in its flesh, the wounds it could feel as one appeared...slicing across its back...another stabbing at its leg, dispite all of this the beings fury only grew and slowly it cut them down making a clear path for Brutus.

And Brutus weeped. He was in the middle of his enemies and his brothers and sisters, all of them occupied with their own personal battles, and he weeped. For there in front of him stood his granddaughter...in one hand she clutched the picture they'd drawn so long ago...in the other the dagger she'd used to cut her own path to him...blood seeped from her various wounds, none of which she could feel...blood and tears mixed on her cheeks and an expression of sadness and hurt that if he could he would wipe from her face forever.

His eyes widened as that scream of agony ripped from her again, this time given a form, this time put to words "IS THIS HOW WE ARE STRONG?! IS THIS, AFTER ALL THE BATTLES WE'VE FOUGHT THROUGH AND WON, AFTER ALL THE TIMES YOU'VE HELPED PICK US BACK UP AND WE'VE DONE THE SAME FOR YOU, IS THIS HOW IT ENDS?! IF THIS IS HOW IT SHALL END MAY I END HERE TOO!" Her voice broke at the last few words and her shoulders slumped quivering, she cried and the red stained tears silently fell like shiney red crystals. Her next words came as a whisper but seemed to echo impossibly loud in his ears. Her whole body quivered as she spoke, "i can understand leaving...going to figure out things that cannot be figured out here...because with those private missions comes peace of mind...and only once that peace of mind is reached can you come back to the ones you love...however some missions of this sort...cannot be won alone...the brotherhood has always been there for you grandfather...and i have always been ready and willing to fight by your side be it battles on the field or in the mind...but if this is how you wish to end it...may i end here as well.."

And Brutus was awake. As he watched his granddaughters sadness harden back into that cold fury at the enemy, whirling to strike out at them still clutching tightly to the crumpled picture, the shadows in his head cleared and he understood. The battle raged and suddenly within him it swelled, what he'd been supressing, what he knew he'd have to go off to understand, but also what he knew he had to be alive to figure out. As his granddaughter fought in her fury he too whirled and once more took up the battle, and as the light of the day shone so did victory for the brotherhood.

As they cleared out, leaving the bodies of their broken enemies behind, two remained on the battlefield. Brutus and Lyanah, Grandfather and Granddaughter, stood a few feet apart, a feeling of goodbye in the air. The fury in her stance and expression had passed, and both stood bloodied but in clear understanding. Brutus had to go, but not forever. This battle proved that. The thing that was calling Brutus foreward wasn't the shadows, he wasn't becoming a monster, he was becoming what he was meant to be all along. The man in him was growing, and despite the shadows trying to supress it the man in him would win. His soul and his mind were becoming complete without his body, and the wonderful, warm, caring, strong person he was becoming needed space to grow. He would be back, and when he did come back he would be a better man, he would be complete in all his essence.

But in order to come back in that way...he had to go. From far off the brotherhood watched as Lyanah hugged Brutus, her grandfather, tight and he held her close, the embrace of farewell. Not bothering to whipe her cheeks as her blue eyes filled to the brim Lyanah took a couple steps back and smiled through her tears laughing soft. "Go on you big lug...and hurry back...i'll be getting restless without you here to help pull our dumb pranks and get into trouble...go on and do what you gotta do and hurry back to me...to your brothers and sisters..."

Brutus smiled as well and his eyes warmed with life once more, he didnt say a word and none needed to be said, they already knew what he would have said. He looked on at the brotherhood once more and his heart warmed knowing it would not be the last time, raising his fist in salute to his brothers and sisters he watched as they all repeated his motion letting out cries of the warrior, lending each other strength as they always had before.

Lyanah was the last the take up the salute, and as he turned to go he felt lighter...he could feel the shadows but they no longer threatened him. He was off to find that person, the great person that he is. And he'd bring him back. He willed the brotherhood and his granddaughter to keep their strength, to fight on and be strong. He knew that She would be, and he knew that each of them would follow in suit until he came back. His soul had already started the process of completion and the sweet song of the wastelands promised to follow through to the end of that process.

Brutus, the warrior of the brotherhood, the dehumanized, the strong, was becoming human. Brutus was becoming whole.




[[[[[[i wished to send brutus off as a hero, for that is what he is. he has come through for me time and time again, and i hope that he finds success in all of the endeavors he attempts. may he have the strength where it is necessary, and the compassion and understanding where it is needed. and may he come back to us the honorable man that i know him as, and that hopefully all of you see him as. Heres to brutus, may he become whole in and of himself, my friend and my ally, may he come back the wonderful, caring, and strong man that we all have come to know him to be. If its one thing he's taught me time and time again its this: never give up, believe in the ones you love and trust in them for it is them that will stick with you to the end, and above all believe in yourself and your own strength for if you dont all hope is lost and without hope there cannot be anything.

sincerely and truly yours,
-lyanah]]]]]]