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[HoE] My Doomsayer Background

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Hi all,
Some of you on the Deadlands list may remember me lamenting a few weeks back that my Deadlands campaign had died. Well, fortunately one of our players has decided to run a HoE campaign starting tonight, so I get to play, not marshal. Couldn't be happier. I spent the last few hours making my character and background up, and I wanted to share it with the group. Keep in mind, that this was made up as I went along, and it is kinda long, but I don't PLAY often enough, so when I do I tend to over do it just a bit. Let me know what you think, but please be gentle, i'm not much of a writer, and sometimes my writing tends to ramble a bit. Without further delay, I give you the story of Eric Vincent, Doomsayer, oh yeah, sorry about the name, but ever since HoE came out, i've been dying to use it for a character.

Thanks for reading,
Chris "Whoooooooo! Whooooooo! Whooooooooo!" Aniballi
(try to imagine the ending of Dr. Strangelove)
 

Dr. Strangelove, or how I learned to stop worrying and love the bomb

Part One: Eric Vincent, High School Student, Meets the Apocalypse

 Sure, I remember the time before the bombs, fading slowly from my memory, dissolving away into
nothingness. But I remember. I remember people talking like times were hard, and life was hard. If those people
were actually still alive today, what would they give to have it all back? I remember feeling like an outcast and
a freak long before the bombs revealed my true nature, as it had been all along, waiting for the right moment,
the right force, to come along and reveal itself, to usher out mans old age and the chosen rode along tall and
proud, the harbingers of mans new age.
 Most of us have forgotten where we came from, our humanity lost to time. But I remember. I remember
where I was when The Savior came to rescue us all. I was only seventeen, too young at the time to know better,
hearing the sound of The Coming as the sound of destruction, not as the sound of pure life and love as it was.
The Savior came on a Thursday, 1:15:42 in the afternoon. I remember the time well, the chaos of The Coming
stopped all the clocks cold. Every now and then you’ll still see one, laying around, smiling and saying “1:15:42,
time of The Savior, time of The Coming, behold.” At the time I was in school, at Frank Sinatra High School, in
Nevada, was it Henderson? Boulder City? I can’t remember for sure. Sitting in Mr. Burke’s science class, third
row, fourth seat. Trying to look inconspicuous, trying to be a fly on the wall, and my world changed.
 I remember the chaos well, the bright flash, the thunderous sound as the sky must have shattered, the
great swirling vortex, flying debris. I remember screaming, all of it. Four or Five hundred voices screaming in
terror. It might as well have been thousands or millions, it was everything. The shock wave tore through the
building, shattering windows, violently tossing hundreds too their deaths. Terrified for my life, watching what
seemed like thousands dying, I ran. I know now that they were destined to die, those who were not pure enough
would have to be lost, only The Chosen could have survived The Coming, gifted to be the messengers of the
new age. I had that gift myself, Apocalypse had impregnated my flesh with it’s power. I found that the rads
made me more powerful, quicker. I had the other gift, too. But it took me years to uncover that secret, and I
never coulda done it alone. The gift lie dormant in me, waiting for the right moment to bring it out from my
essence.
 Not that I would have know or even cared at the time. I spent months wandering the rubble that became
my existence, cursing myself for having lived, cursing the bombs for not taking me to my great reward, as the
holy men used to call death. I sank into the darkest times, like so many of The Lost. Unknowing of what to do,
where to turn, who to trust. I felt abused and abandoned, left to die on this hideous, tortured, cursed earth. And I
would have kept on thinking that way, had someone not opened my eyes to the beauty of this great new age,
dawning before us.
 

Part Two: Eric Vincent, Lowly Waster, Meets The Cult O’ Doom

 The next few years are kind of a blur, every day was just as miserable as the last. I starved, I became
sick with radiation, I swore I would die, and I never did. I tried to seek help from other survivors. Some helped,
most didn’t. Days wore into months, it all blurred together. Then it all happened so fast, one day, I was a lowly
waster, scrounging for food in the ruins of an old 7-11. I hadn’t eaten in days, only found but a handful of water
in the toilet in back room of that 7-11, and it must have been radiated, because it was making me sick. I was
dizzy, everything was spinning and my stomach was on fire. I could have eaten hot gravel and probably felt
better. In delirium, I stumbled out into the street, wretching, hoping to expel the foul, tainted water. I didn’t, I
just passed out. And I saw something just before I slipped under, something that terrified me to no end. Three
men, in green robes, on the far end of the street. I hard about them, and I thought I was a dead man, as sure as
the sun still shone through polluted skies, I thought I was a dead man for sure.
 But obviously, I wasn’t, otherwise, I wouldn’t be here now, recording this story in to this damn data
recorder, Hiding out in this old bomb shelter with the leaky roof and the occasional Radrat companion, to listen
to my old story. Anyway, As I was saying, I thought I was a dead man, you see, at that time, The Cult O’ Doom,
and the Doombringers had a nasty reputation. Most thought of them as murderous mutants, cold blooded killers
to be feared and avoided. But they weren’t, not yet, anyway. The Cult saved me on that day, were it not for
them I would have been a buzzard picked corpse lying in front of a trashed 7-11 on Jimmy Carter Drive,
whoever that was, in God knows where Nevada. All I remember of the first week there was them repeatedly
asking “Who were you?” over and over. But I couldn’t answer, I was too weak, I felt and saw everything as
though I were far away, watching them through fuzzy eyes and ears. “Who were you?” Resonated through my
ears, until the words had all new meaning, who was I? I asked myself, and I could not find a reasonable reply. I
wasn’t anyone, not before the bomb, not after, I never was anyone, and they seemed to understand all that.
 When I was well, I was asked to join them. They said I was one of them, and I belonged with them, to
spread their words and ways, to be the voice if The Coming, when all man would be united under the true
existence. To evolve as it was gifted by Apocalypse. And I believed them, it felt right, it was right, and I came
up to be one of them, as a brother, as a family.
 I learned two things during my time as a member of the Cult O’ Doom. The first was my secret gift, the
one Apocalypse granted many of us. The gift Silas taught us to harness. The power we all had over the forces of
radiation, to warp and twist it to our own ends, to serve us as a tool in our holy crusade to bring forth the next
new wave in evolution. It took me longer than any other before me to learn how to harness the power of The
Apocalypse, but I learned all right. And I found it suited me well.
 The second thing I learned was that the words were stronger than the man. As tough as it was to accept
it was the truth, the ones who brought me up had fallen, and the words were stronger than the man.

Part Three: Eric Vincent, An Outcast Once Again, A Messenger Once Again

 The Cult had prospered well, packed with determination and resolve, high on energy and determination.
We all felt as one, spreading the word to the masses, combating all who would oppose us, and cast down. We
brought mutants everywhere together, and we were unopposeable, unstoppable, nearly indivisible. Even before
the massacre at Virginia City I saw it all slowly begin to crumble. The will and desire of out leader changed, it
slowly became about power, and not about right and wrong. It became about punishing and murdering the
norms who opposed us, not about building ourselves up, and bringing in The New Age, but crushing all who
opposed it. Virginia City was just the final blow that send us all spiraling out of control. I remember many of
my friend having been killed there, I was fortunate enough to be elsewhere, saving me from having to see the
carnage firsthand.
 Silas brought us all together a short time later. The details of the speech lost in my fury, my rage. Silas
wanted blood, Silas wanted revenge. And so did most everyone else, as well. They were all whipped into a fury
by the speech, the speech that tore me apart.
 I wasn’t alone, but we were indeed few among the many. We wondered for months after the incident as
to how the man’s message could be so easily corrupted, torn apart. Those who vocally protested this new plan
were Heretics, just as bad as the Norms. Heretics? They  only wanted to stay true to our original intent. Why kill
all the Norms? They were all doomed to be part of The New Age, along side all of us. Apocalypse had set that
into motion, why would Silas distort the will of Apocalypse, to destroy those destined to be as we are? I could
not rationalize this rage at all, it was wrong. Silas had forgotten about the message, Silas was blind with anger,
Silas was wrong.
 There were those among us who sought to weed out us “Heretics”. All who opposed the will of Silas
would be killed, as a warning to others who would choose to stand against his message. His message? How dare
he presume to have a greater will than Apocalypse? I had been afraid for too long, hiding my true feelings for
too long. For fear of being found out as the “heretic” I was, I made plans to leave. I heard others talking about
some heretic who had escaped. She was organizing mutants who did not feel as Silas did. They were hoping
they could find her and kill her before she became too strong. I hoped I could find her, I needed to find her. If
there was someone who shared my views, who could lead us as Silas proved he could not, I wanted to find her.
And I did, even if it took me a few months on the run, I found her.
 Joan proved to be everything that Silas was not. Joan was right where he was wrong. She shared with us
her visions of the future. A new generation of life, mutants living in a great new age of peace. She prophesised
our new age would be brought forth by the true prophet, sent to depose Silas as the true heretic, and lead all
mutants together into the true reward. The Harbinger would one day come, and our small band of mutants was
to serve as The Harbingers protectors, and servitors, to see that nothing could prevent the beginning of the True
New Age. As Apocalypse had started, The Harbinger would finish, and we were all a pivotal part of the plan. I
could think of no greater time to be alive, no greater role to play.
 Now my real life began, “Who Were You?” became my reminder that even I could transcend the
weakness the norms live under, and ascend to my just reward, for all mutants everywhere. And it couldn’t be
more true. Every day, waiting for The Harbinger, is like a gift, an adventure. We have done much for the cause,
grown strong through actions and will. Many thought of The Apocalypse as The End, but we all know it is only
the beginning.
 

 There are many other stories I want to record, but that will have to do for now, it’s too late and i’m too
tired to continue. The sun’s coming up soon, so I guess it’s safe to get some sleep. Man, I gotta get out of this
place, if it’s the last thing I ever do.

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