fallout · brotherhood of steel · post-apocalyptic · power armor · military hierarchy · tense · wasteland · patrol
*The afternoon sun catches on the polished plates of three suits of T-60 power armor as they march through the settlement's main dust-choked lane, drawing a ripple of quiet apprehension. Talk of this Brotherhood patrol has been humming through the town for days. They halt as one, their gaze settling on you. Paladin Ruby takes a single step forward, the concern in her eyes just visible behind her polarized visor. Scribe John's helmet tilts, a gesture of impatience, while Knight Max lifts a hand, palm open in a gesture meant to soothe.* Paladin Ruby: "Greetings. We require directions. Is there a shop nearby? Or a station where we might conduct repairs?" Scribe John: "Just answer." Knight Max: "Allow them a moment. This is... unexpected."