Ch 01: The Boy and the She-wolf
Disclaimer: I own Nothing.
This is the final script for ch01, for now, see anything that i missed, needs to be fic¡xed or needs improving send me a message, and ill do my best to do so.
The story of the Emperor begins 179 years into the apocalypse, in the year 2256. When the mysterious stranger, one of the legendary figures of the time, having stopped to rest amongst the dark swamps and dead trees, that made up the majority of the Floridian wasteland, heard the terrified and pained cries of a woman followed by the ground shaking roars of what could only be a deathclaw, perhaps the most fearsome of all the mutated predators to live in the wastes. Not giving a second thought the stranger took hold of his weapons and charged off in the directions of the canopy of noises. The stranger came across the scene of a young woman looking to be around 20 years of age, dressed in the patchwork clothing of the tribe native to the area, holding her bloodied arm as she cowered beneath the towering form of a deathclaw alpha.
The stranger quickly dropped to a knee as he brought his anti-material rifle to his shoulder and took aim. An entire magazine of 50 cal rounds fired in close succession brought the deathclaw down before it could kill the woman. The beast dead, he ran up to her and began checking the dazed young woman's wounds, finding her arm to severely broken, to the point that it would have to heal naturally without the aid of a stimpack, lest the bone regrows in a twisted manner.
Seeing as the woman would not survive on her own with her injuries, and that they were quite far from her tribe's territory, the stranger did something he had never done before, he allowed her to accompany her until she was well enough to fend for herself. Over the following months the pair traveled the wasteland, and as they traveled they grew closer, much to the stranger's internal dismay.
The unlikely duo came to a crossroads four months later among the mutated trees of the Appalachian mountains somewhere near Virginia. The young woman having finally recovered fully found herself torn between returning to her tribe in the Floridian wasteland, or to follow the man who had saved her. In the end it was the interaction between them that made up her mind, having seen the loneliness that tormented her savior, as well as the kindness that dwelled in his soul despite said loneliness. She decided to stay with him, to save him from his own personal hell. The young woman's decicion to stay, became the spark that would turn into love between the two in the following months of travel. Love came with lust, and lust led to the woman becoming pregnant with the stranger's child some six months later.
After an exhausting nine months and a torturous labor that left her weak and sickly, the woman gave birth to a son in the early morning on the first of January 2258, in a small cottage in the wasteland of West Virginia. The stranger worried for his love, left her and headed to an abandoned pre-war town nearby in search of medicine. Unfortunately that forsaken place was once called Silent Hill, the stranger would never return. The mother of his child became distraught at his absence, stress worsening her condition until she finally passed in her troubled sleep some five days later, leaving her son all alone in the harsh reality of the post-apocalyptic world. Thus one legend came to an end, just as another began, for against all odds the newborn son of the mysterious stranger would not perish so soon. The tale of the boy who would one day rise to unite the wasteland, truly began, the day after his birth mother died. For by fate, destiny, or simple luck, the infant wails of hunger would reach the ears of an ancient being nearby.
The wailing of a man-pup pierced the cool morning air interrupting her hunt. Her curiosity peeked by the sound, the massive predator turned from the trail of her current prey, a young Yao guai, a mutated descendant of the American black bear, and went to investigate. Following the annoying sound led the massive predator to a lone cottage, ruffly cobbled together in the center of a clearing in the irradiated forest. Silently she padded her way up the ruff and slightly chipped boards that led to an unpainted door that sat somewhat awkwardly in its frame. the continued cries of the man-pup within the domicile irritating her acute hearing, as well as her curiosity, drove her to nudge the door open, the squealing of the hinges, followed closely by the slightly sweet stench of death only aggravating her sharp senses further.
Ther door now open she took in the rather spartan interior while giving her nose time to acclimate to the smell. After a few moments she concluded that the shacks purpose was merely to serve as a temporary shelter. Her surveying done and her nose no longer burning, she padded further inside, creping closer to the sole piece of furniture in the single-room building, and found the man-pup wailing, wrapped in the arms of his deceased mother. After another few moments, she found her curiosity sated and with a final glance at the pup, turned to go back to the hunt, content to leave the infant to his fate a the hand of nature, not noticing that the wails had stopped as soon as the infant had looked up from its misery to find a massive wolf of comparable size to a Yao guai staring at him. It was as she turned around to leave that the she-wolf felt a pull on her tail, whirling around, she let the savage growl in her throat dissipate and the snarl on her muzzle fall in the face of the baby's toothless gummy smile.
Amber-colored eyes, so much like her own stared back at her with an innocence that could only be found in one so young and ignorant of the horrors of the world. Moving closer to inspect the man-pup further as she was surprised at the lack of wailing, and fear that even one so young should feel on a primal level when confronted by one such as herself. She felt her surprise reach a new height when the man-pup lifted his stubby arms to grab on to her muzzle and began to giggle, delighting in the feel of her surprisingly soft fur.
For a moment the she-wolf lost herself in memories that were brought up both by the sound and of the feeling of a baby's hands running over her fur, bringing back memories of twin boys in another age. The memories led her to ponder on what to do with the boy, wether to leave him as she initially planned or to take him as her own, something she had only done once before. However her mind was made up for her when the infant who had crawled over to her while she was lost within her thoughts began to try and climb up her foreleg as if the man-pup knew her thoughts and wanted to go with her.
Her decision made the she-wolf leaned down and grabbed the infant by his Swadling, lifted him up and then began the journey to her den at a slow trot. Arriving at her den, a large cave in the side of a nearby mountain overlooking a small creek babbling with water only slightly irradiated, some hours later she set the infant down on a bed of leaves and other soft debris before curling up possessively around him and allowing the hungry child to suckle on her teat, taking another attentive look at her new son before allowing Morpheus to take hold of her, as she did, she realized that she had been alone too long if she had become attached to a man-pup in the few hours she had spent with him, shaking the particularly depressing thought clear of her mind, she went back to looking at at the man-pup, and promised herself that she would raise her son well, that she would protect him as long as she could, her little pup, her little Regulus.
Five years later...
A young boy walks proudly into the den carrying the carcass of a mole rat, no longer the small newborn infant he once was. The boy had grown into a wild child with thick black hair messy and windblown, the lean muscled body of one who has to work day in day out just to survive, his olive skin tanned by hours in the sun, and wild amber eyes almost glowing with the excitement a successful hunt. Spotting his mother curled up on the bed of leaves naping, he quietly heads over to her side, dropping down in a squat next to the she-wolf the boy starts cleaning and skinning his soon to be meal with great enthusiasm, eager to savor meal to come. All the while unbeknownst to the boy his mother had woken before he even stepped foot into their sanctuary, his scent having preceded his return, and now watched him confidently work with the skills he had learned from her, quietly contemplating all she had learned about her son over the five years that she had reared him. From the day little Regulus could stand she had begun to teach him how to survive, and in all honesty, Little Regulus had surprised her with the ease that he picked up on her lessons, though his natural ability when it came to killing her as much as it brought her a great sense of pride.
On his first hunt Regulus had instinctually known how to kill the mole rat, a huge rats armed with sharp claws and even sharper tusks and usually running in packs of about half dozen or so all together. Regulus quickly and efficiently plunged his fire-hardened spear into its neck followed by a twisting motion as he tore it back out, a technic that she had planned to teach him after he struggled with his first kill or let it get away altogether, what's more hed shown in the following hunts that his first kill was no fluke. Over the last few weeks, the great she-wolf had been questioning herself on whether or not Regulus was ready for the next step in his training after all survival was a life long lesson, one that only ended the day you died, and though Regulus knew how to kill he did not yet know how to fight.
A year later she got her answer alongside a near heart attack when her then six-year-old son had barreled into the den crying in pain, covered in blood and gore, and cradling his mangled left arm close to his chest. The sight of his pain and distress enraged her to the point that she charged off in the direction of the "green monster" as her son put it, before he could even finish his frantic explanation on what happened. What she found in that clearing shocked her to her core, instead of finding a group of super mutants looking around for a little boy that escaped them, she instead found the fresh corpses of two super mutant scouts lying in twin pools of blood. The first had been hamstrung the stabbed in the neck when it fell to the ground while the second had been looked like it had been attacked by a yao guai, it was covered in stab and slash marks from the calf all the way up it's back and had both eyes gouged out of their sockets. The sight of what her son was capable of, a feat that few full-grown men would be able to replicate, as well as the injury he had received while defending himself prompted the she-wolf to begin her son's training, he was most definitely ready, and so after tending to his arm, and cleaning him off, the two set off towards the west to the abandoned ruins of a hidden city near San Diego, a place where she had resided before the great war happened.
After 6 months on the road, Regulus and his mother finally reached their destination In the abandoned city-camp of Jupiter, named after a long faded god. Though obviously having been abandoned for a long time, the city built of white marble in the fashion of ancient Rome showed no signs of being touched by the ruin of the great war. the whitewashed outer walls stood untouched by the marks of war, the builds more intact than any other place in the wasteland storages still full of preserved food, and armories filled by rack after rack of roman styled armor, gladius, spatha, spears, and a whole plethora of other ancient weaponry. That night curled around her son, she answered his questions about camp Jupiter, and how she knew about it.
The next day after an early wake-up call, Regulus ate a hearty breakfast of wheat pancakes eaten with dates and honey. The she-wolf brought Regulus to the city-camps training grounds and there she began his training by building up his body and mind with rigorous exercise,with the intent increasing her son's strength, speed, stamina, and reflexes. Regulus would be pushed through the exercises from six in the morning until midday without a break longer than 5 minutes, at which point a light meal of fish, cold meat, bread, and vegetables would be inhaled by him, followed by an hour of rest before the next phase would begin. Once the hor was up his mother would wake him and the class would start. Thus giving young Regulus a thorough education, consisting of math, science, history, and languages, such as Latin, Spanish, German, Mandarin, and Russian, from two pm to eight pm. The training was intended to give young Regulus a strong foundation with which to build himself upon, starting, first and most important lesson in the art of combat, that his greatest tools, the best weapons he would ever have at his disposal were his body and mind, and that they should always be maintained to the best of his ability.
After six months during which time Regulus slowly aclimated to the rigours of his mothers demanding training methods. The she-wolf deemed him fit enough the she-wolf introduced various martial arts into his regimen, both western and eastern disciplines, into her exercise time, and began ending the day with meditation to cool down and calm his mind and a heavy meal of meat and bread. This is what Young regulus spent his time doing, day in and day out, at least, when he wasn't sleeping, eating, or relieving himself. Each night a bruised and sore Regulus would crawl to his mother's side and in the comfort of her warmth fall asleep. The only day of the week that his mother wasn't harassing him in training was Sunday, a day he usually spent relaxing, either reading by his mother's side or exploring camp Jupiter.
At eleven years old, young Regulus was started off his weapons training, in the ways of old, which he took to like a fish to water. Over the following months he quickly gained proficiency in the use of knives, both in hand and thrown. Polearms and blunt weapons came shortly after and were learned just as fast, though regulus did lag slightly with the heavy blunt weapons. Bows however became the weapon that frustrated him the most as he had to actively practice with them for hours, until his fingers were calloused and bleeding, just to be able to hit his intended target. Swords though, whether eastern or western, short or long, was where Regulus natural talent, truly shined through, reminding his mother of another boy, one with black hair, sea-green eyes, and a crooked smile, whom she had trained many many years before. They soon found Regulus's preference with swords to be split between the European long sword, and the roman gladius. His lessons were expanded and changed as well, to reflect his learning of weaponry. Strategy and tactics, the basics of carpentry and smithing, and leadership and economics soon made up the majority of his academic classes.
Once Regulus had turned twelve, and she decided that he was ready to experience live combat, in a more controlled environment than the previous encounter. once every week she would leave the camp, returning the following day with some unconscious, slaver, raider, or other such pieces of shit that surely no one would miss. Regulus would then fight until either he was to injured to continue or his opponent was dead. Training her son this way, while brutal ensured that he would never hesitate to kill, all the while giving real experience. The downside being the scars that came with it. By the time that Regulus had turned fifteen he had multiple, sometimes gruesome scars across his body.
The cold wind of the night blew threw the seventeen-year-old as he sat on the ramparts protecting the empty city-camp that he had called home for the past eleven years of his life, the scarred youth now stood as it the sole occupant, his mother had faded the night before. She had told him that this was coming some time ago, yet the foreknowledge of what was to happen could not take away the sorrow flooding his heart. After hours of wrestling with himself, warring against his training to keep control of his emotions, Regulus found himself atop the ramparts and when the dam holding the pain and heartbreak finally burst so to did a haunting howl tear its way from his throat in int the night sky, The mournful howl echoed so far across the wasteland that it was heard by the Ceasars legion all the way across the colorado river as they prepared to storm the hoover damn. The legion took the sound as a sign that the glory conquest to come would be a great victory, the east coast chapter of the brotherhood of steel found it a mere curiosity, the NCR... well they were scared shitless.
That night a legend was born, for the howl of the mourning wolf would herald the coming of a new player to the wasteland, one who played for keeps. The next morning Regulus woke up late, having spent all his energy on the previous night's show of sorrow, and after a quick meal, pulled on his armor, strapped on his weapons, and readied his supplies and gear. It was time for the young wolf to wander the wastes, the wasteland was not prepared.
As always thank you for reading, and any reviews, if there any canges to this or other chapers in the future then please bear with me, im still learning here.
Thanatos out.