Dutch Orange Legion: Art Gallery and Quake Stories
Dutch Orange Legion – famed modders who created 3TCTF mod for Quake II – also crafted incredible Quake art pieces and wrote stories and poetry based on the Quake game world. Of particular note is, “The World of Quake,” possibly the oldest Quake poem, by Majika.
[DOL] Art Gallery
[DOL] Quake Stories
Knights of the Apocalypse by Nexon
The future had been foreseen numerous times but the ignorance of society and government cloaked the truth in a shroud, a shroud of death that soon would become the downfall of the civilized society of the twentieth century. The petty wars of that time period are dwarfed in comparison of what was eminent. Aggression is the nature of man, always able to overpower intellect and rationale. It was only a matter of time before this dominant trait overthrew and gained controlled of the others, the ones consciously controlled. During the twentieth century man harnessed the power of the atom, a force during that time thought to be the most destructive force in the known universe. This all changed with the discovery of plasmas. Substances whose potential powers far surpassed that of the atom’s. The miners on the newly established U.S. Mars colony knew little about how much closer they brought the shroud of death to earth’s population when they first discovered the electro-liquid like substance that would in years lead to what many now consider the Apocalypse. It didn’t take long for the chemical masterminds and weapons technicians of the U.S. government’s military branch to develop the first plasma powered weapon. Its simplicity and facility to construct astonished the developers, but not nearly as much as its incredible destructive force. The weapons easy construction meant mass production in little time was possible. The shroud was so close now, the stench of deaths breath became increasingly potent and strong.
Knowledge is power and in the hands of certain people certain knowledge is deadly. In the end of the twenty-first century, with the U.S. military’s knowledge of plasma weaponry, security was a crucial matter. Unfortunately aggression is dominant, the shroud was getting very close now, death to earth’s children its goal. Aggression has the ability to manipulate. In most people it is locked behind a barrier of doors, doors which protect it from unleashing its full potential. For a select few these doors are unlocked and aggression can reign freely to manifest and destroy.
Greed drove this man, he worked for U.S. military intelligence but preached loyalty to his homeland, Iraq. The doors to aggression were wide open, and aggression could manifest itself in this man as greed and evil. The taboo surrounding this man’s name forbids me to write it here on this page. This man delivered detailed plans of the plasma weapon’s construction to the Iraqi government in exchange for a hefty sum of cash. The knowledge was powerless without the resources, plasma being one. Without this vital resource the Iraqis could do nothing.
The task force was comprised of Iraq’s top soldiers trained in deadly hand to hand combat. These men were cold, willing to slit their own mother’s throats for a nickel. Their mission was to infiltrate the U.S. mining facility containing a collection of plasma deposits and bring back as much as possible. Flying a stolen NASA freighter the force of men infiltrated the facility successfully with no resistance. Upon their return the Iraqi government already had construction facilities built for weapon mass production. Within a week 100,000 plasma cannons and rifles were assembled. World domination was Iraq’s plan.
May ninth, 2253 the shroud enveloped the earth. A handful of Iraqi soldiers entered and completely obliterated the city of Jerusalem, crushing the Jews that they had been battling since biblical times. The city lay in ruins and reeked of blood and death. Not a single Israeli lived. The land was littered with bodies. News of the horrific incident traveled quickly and the American scientists that developed the technology knew the entire population was DOOMED literally. Just as quickly as Jerusalem’s population had so quickly been obliterated the USMC was introduced to the awesome destructive power of plasma. With the knowledge of these weapons basically public and increased plasma availability basically anyone could construct one.
It only took a few years, especially after the downfall of the U.S. government, the earth’s population dropped drastically. Millions upon millions of people died, the landscape once covered in beautiful foliage was now tattered and barren, littered with bodies. Only a handful of people survived the cloak’s carnage. These people, in dire need of protection, joined together in small clans. For years now these clans scoured the land constantly battling one another for no apparent reason. The doors could no longer be locked, aggression was all that remained and all that people knew.
Each step echoed, as the battled hardened mercenary’s steel-toed combat boots touched the hard rock surface. Scars covered the mans body, it was evident that he had seen his fair share of combat. He carried with him a tattered pack within which he carried belongings and possessions he owned along with water and rations. Nobody knew his real name, including himself. He was known only by his callsign, a callsign feared by every clan he had ever come in contact with. He clutched his weapon and continued running. Anger writhed within him. Nexon sought absolution, what so many before him sought but failed. He pledged loyalty to one man and that man was himself, he trusted only this man. Too many had betrayed him before. Nexon was not they type of man who would fight for a clan, he believed what they stood for a worthless cause, and that their goals were utterly unreachable. Clans had a mental reasoning level equal to that of anything less than one on a scale from one to ten. Nexon knew how to pick his battles it was what kept him alive for so long. Now Nexon ran he was chasing another.
The rocky landscape spanned as far as the eye could see. The man Nexon was chasing knew this area well, he was doing an exceptional job of evading Nexon’s attack. Nexon chased him out of anger and belief that he could change the man into believing in what he believed in. To this point Nexon had been unsuccessful, otherwise he would have a travelling companion.
The rocket exploded meters away from Nexon’s position without warning. Nexon now had confirmation that his adversary was skilled. The man’s stealth like tactics intrigued and to some extent excited Nexon. Dodging another rocket Nexon returned fire in his opponent’s direction with his Rocket Launcher. The 30 pound piece of military excellence became an extension of Nexon’s thoughts as he painted his opponent’s location in an array of rockets. His opponent staked out on a rocky overhang about 50 meters above Nexon’s location. He obviously had a sizeable advantage due to his elevated position, but this advantage did not outweigh Nexon’s battle skills. He was trained decades earlier, before the downfall of the U.S. government, as a member of the USMC. He knew what he was doing, it showed in his actions. Nexon hid behind a tall rock and aimed his railgun towards the dark one’s location hoping the man would show him his face.
The fight ended quickly, a uranium slug ripped a hole through the dark one’s flesh sending him reeling back 20 feet. He hit the ground hard, but not hard enough to send him into unconsciousness. He had little time left to live, blood poured from the enormous wound left by the slug. Nexon climbed the rock face to examine his handiwork. He stood over the dyeing man with a look of disgust. The men’s eyes met, the dark man looked sympathetically at Nexon. Showing now mercy Nexon unholdstered his blaster.
“We’d have made an excellent team”
It was over within a fraction of a second, the blaster shot created a searing cauterized wound in the mans head. Nexon turned his head and looked to the sky, he was off to continue his unending quest for his unreachable goal.
Clan battles were a hell of a sight. Picture two fairly large groups of men armed with fertile instruments of death attempt to destroy one another, by any means. Clan warfare lacked tactics and strategy, it was an all out aggression fest.
The men had been battling for days in the abandoned warehouse. Their battlegrounds were dark and full of potential ambush positions. Sounds of death echoed off the cavernous walls of the warehouse of the warehouse.
The one known as Obsidian fought along side his companion with confidence. The two warriors were the most skilled in the clan, without a doubt.
Without hesitation Obsidian’s strong companion dropped to his knees dodging an enemy rocket. A thanks was not needed but implied. Both men knew they owed the other their life. The rocket dodged by icer was returned by an assorted amount of different munitions. Icer covered their opponents escape positions with chaingun fire while Obsidian lobbed grenades towards the trapped mans position. When facing such an awesome fighting force one can’t expect to live very long. The wall adjacent to the trapped man was splattered with entrails and gibchunks. Obsidian and Icer looked at each other and continued down a darkeded corridor. Two large stone pillars stood opposing one another in the corridor, perfect ambush/camping positions. Camping was not a well-accepted tactic but Icer and Obsidian would do anything to gain the upper hand in a clan battle. Sweat trickled down Icer’s brow and a feeling of nausea overcame him. The two now stood upon opposing pillars aiming their weapons downward towards the corridor entrances. A dark feeling of death suddenly overcame Icer. Never before had he experienced this feeling, he was certain somebody was to die, someone on his side possibly himself.
It happened so quickly, Obsidian let down his guard for a moment to grab a drink of water. The man entered the corridor on the side obsidian was supposed to be guarding. For some unknown reason the man instinctually knew that Obsidian was upon the pillar. Icer looked down, his rocket launcher felt very heavy in his hands. Movement was sluggish, he knew within that fractional amount of time that his companion was no more. Icer threw down all his weapons except his combat knife and jumped from the pedestal to his opponent below. Surprised the man jumped out of the way but not fast enough. The two fell to the floor in a primitive hand to hand battle to the death. Icer managed to secure his opponent’s arms and legs with his amazing strength. He looked at the man he was about to kill, he didn’t look much different than himself. Icer almost felt remorse as he slid the knife blade over the man’s throat ending his life.
Obsidian’s death changed Icer’s views. He decided that clan warfare was not what he wanted anymore. He walked away from the warehouse leaving his clanmates to fall to the knees of the enemy, but this did not phase him. He just walked.
Nexon, almost to the point of giving up and ending his own life just ended another of a hapless soul. He was born into the wrong era of time, he should have been a part of the peaceful twentieth century, but he was not that fortunate. He had been wandering the earth’s desolate and barren landscape for years, never finding a true and permanent means of protection. A clan was looking good to him now, but not just any clan. The clan Nexon envisioned was different than any of those in existence, he envisioned a clan that stood not for values such as anger and aggression, but his clan valued life and was solely for protection. Sitting Nexon stood looking toward the future he began his new quest.
The sunlight dilated Icer’s pupils and drained his strength. His thirst was immense, his tounge was dry. Two weeks had apssed since his departure from clan FTW. Survival was more difficult alone than he had imagined, requiring mental and physical strength. Water was scarce, as was food. Unlike Nexon, Icer was not as experienced and familiar with living a solitary life. He needed a companion. KOA was Icer’s destiny. It was only a matter of time before Icer and Nexon met.
The Sun grew hotter and Icer had been without food and water now for more than three weeks. His pace a week earlier a slow jog now was just a slow walk with a developed limp. Strength was something Icer yearned for. Suddenly the suns heat reached an unbearable peak and Icer fell hard to the hot stony surface below.
Nexon pitied the man, his body was tattered and scarred, he resembled Nexon in so many physical ways. His body felt heavy on Nexon’s shoulders. Nexon carried him to a nearby cave shaded from the rays of the hellish sphere of flame. Nexon took his pack from his back and administered water to the fatigued, unconscious man. Within a few hours he awoke alone. Icer stood determined to find the person to whom he owed his life.
From a distance Nexon watched as the man stood and looked around dumbfounded yet happy to be living. He was hoping this man was the potential companion he was looking for, he just needed to be sure. Muttering something under his breath Nexon leapt to the ground below and approached the man whose life he saved at a quick paced jog. When he was within site of the man he dropped his weapons and slowed his pace. He dropped his weapons and approached the man. The two said nothing, they just began walking.
The World of Quake – a poem by Majika
Distant and fragmented memories are all you have left of your past life.
A life before you entered the world of Quake.
Your past is no more.
You hope and pray that someday, you will be able to return to your past life.
But somehow you know that this will never be so.
All that exists now is here.
All that exists here is now.
You are a warrior.
A soldier, for a forgotten army.
You do not know who sent, or brought you here,
And you do not know how.
But again, somehow, you do know why.
You are here to free the land from a curse.
The curse brought down on earth by the witch-goddess,
If you fail, the earth will be lost.
If you succeed, who knows?
Earth may be saved, but you will remain here.
In the world of Quake.
A world bathed in suffering, and cast deep into despair.
Where the only key to survival, is to ensure nothing else survives.
You will need all your wit, cunning, courage, and strength.
That is, if you want to survive.
The path for you is long and treacherous.
But who knows what the future holds.
Without hope, you have nothing.
The Quake Arenas by James “Pvt. LeVeque” LeVeque
It is many, many years later… Quake has won…
While half the world was recruited into forces such as the United States Space Marine Corps, fighting the Strogg half a galaxy away, the rest have been trapped, helpless, fighting their old foe Quake. Quake, whose minions attacked Earth repeatedly years before but failed, could not have come at a worse time. Still recovering from the Strogg attacks and with almost all of the world’s military supplies drifting through space, Earth was in no condition to fight. Despite small skirmishes in the Mid-West and Middle East, seemingly the only areas left with stockpiled munitions, the entire length of the Earth Invasion took a mere 27 days. While some may have escaped early on, those who were not killed initially were captured by Quake’s minions and taken through the dimensions to various isolation camps.
Using the Slipgates and taking advantage of the similar transporter pads found across the planet, the beasts implanted themselves deep inside the Strogg homeworld of Stroggos. The various intruding creatures were prepared for a long, bitter battle with the ferocious cybernetic monsters. The most advanced technological warriors that they had were the Enforcers, a far cry from the Strogg Gladiators. And as one lone human had proved many years ago, no amount of magic can withstand high-tech weaponry and a little tenaciousness.
The Minions laughed aloud when they saw what was waiting for them. The humans had done most of the work already. Hundreds of Strogg were already dead, military defenses were already compromised. The humans had even assassinated the Makron, the Strogg Leader, leaving the Strogg in inner turmoil. Though stronger than the humans, the Strogg were ill-prepared and uncoordinated. The once great Strogg Empire had reached its nadir. The Strogg Invasion was over in five weeks.
Almost completely decimated from their confrontation with the Strogg, the United Earth Forces, as those who had survived now called themselves, had reached a stand-off with Quake’s Minions. Since the Big Gun device had been made inoperable during Operation Alien Overlord, those still aboard their ships were out of harms way. However, most of the humans’ ships were meant for transporting the platoons to Stroggos and thus had little or no weapons to use themselves, and to land on the surface would mean certain death. The UEF had enough supplies left from Earth to last roughly two years, and that was as long as this stalemate lasted. 18 months into the conflict, the United Earth Forces commenced Operation Reprisal: a last-ditch, all-out effort to stop the forces of Quake. After 6 months, it failed.
With another dimension completely under Quake’s power, the Strogg and the Humans have been placed among the myriad of creatures in Quake’s control. They have been forced to join Quake in his conquests, be killed, or be sent to one of Quake’s isolation camps, a fate worse than death. In fact, being in an isolation camp usually leads to death. Those unwilling to kill for Quake must kill for their own lives. For no other reason than the sick, twisted entertainment of the Minions, prisoners are given various implements of destruction, transported into an arena scattered with weaponry, dark hallways, ancient relics, and other prisoners, and are ordered to fight each other in gladiator-style battles. If they refuse, they must face the Minions themselves, minus the weapons. Those who lose are killed in the process, those who win live to fight again. These arenas are arenas of Fire, arenas of Magic, arenas of Death…
These are the Quake Arenas.
Chapter One – “I Got Your Bone Right Here”
“Pssst! Hey Kid, you awake there?”
Your head throbs in pain as you slowly regain consciousness. You feel like somebody’s tried to crack your head open with a sledge-hammer. You motion to show the old man who woke you exactly how big your headache is in classic Excedrin commercial style, but you realize you can’t move your arms. With nothing else to do, you decide to see if you can’t go back to your little nap.
“Kid? You alive?”
That man is getting annoying.
“Hrmm… Guess not.”
As the old man reaches inside your vest to empty your pockets you spring into action, well at least your arm. In one fell swoop you grab his hand, throw the man back, catch your trusty blaster he tried to steal, prime it, and aim. You are a Marine after all.
“Hoh! Hey there! Whoa! Wow! Hi-uh! Let’s not get too hasty there now! Heh-heh-heh. Sheesh, Kid! All ya had to say back there was-uh, `Yessir Sir, I am alive there, now.’ Now how ’bout we all just calm down and put down our guns before anybody notices, ok-okay there?”
Disgusted, you lower your weapon and turn your head away from the old man, only now to realize that you can’t see. As your vision returns from a psychedelic blur, you hear the man take a seat next to you.
“Seems that we havn’t been formally introduced there, Kid. Hi, my name is Shemp, and yours would be?”
“Whow! What a coincidence! I never thought I’d meet another guy named Shemp, ‘specially not in a place like this here place there!”
“No, no, no… I mean, your name’s Shemp, like the Stooge?”
“Oh, well then. That’s different now there, isn’t it? Yes, my name is Shemp, but I’ve never really heard of those Stooge guys though, except when I tell people my”name. All that I really know about those guys is besides Shemp, there are three others: Larry, Curly, and Joe.”
“Pardon me, there?”
“Not Joe, Moe. There was no Joe. Well there was a Joe, but he was Curly’s fat clone or something.” Dear God, why are you talking to this guy? “Nevermind.”
“Hoh-uh, all right then.”
Realizing you can finally see again, you close your eyes in hopes of more sleep.
“You know you-uh, didn’t really answer my question back there then.”
“Question?” You grumble.
“Uh-yeah, question. What would your name be there, Kid?”
You prime up your trusty side-arm to threaten to blast the man if he ever calls you “Kid” again, but you stop. What is your name? Who the hell are you? Where the hell are you?
“I- I don’t know.”
“Whell, isn’t that something. A certified case of amnesia. They must have hit you pretty hard there when they gotcha.”
“They? They who?”
“Hum, I guess they sure did, heh-heh. They, Kid, are the Minions, Quake’s Minions.”
You stare blankly.
“Don’tcha remember, Kid? Quake, big guy, huge chip on his shoulder, he conquers the universe one dimension at a time there? I mean, come on Kid, throw me a bone here?”
And then it hits you like the proverbial ton-of-bricks. You are Private Stephen Bishop of the United States Space Marine Corps. You were trapped somewhere on the outskirts of Crater Majoris, fighting alongside a small band of fellow Marines and rebel Strogg solders. You were killing ogres and knights left and right in what could only be the Minion-slaying equivalent to a runner’s high. It was like second nature to you, you didn’t even need to think. However, if you bothered to think, you might have seen the ogre sneak up behind you and shoot a grenade at your sweet little noggin. Praise Allah that that one grenade of all grenades was a dud and all that it did was give you a mild concussion at the worst, saving you from being a mess of gibbage on the floor. Sadly, the last image you remember before blacking-out is that of the grenade rolling towards your fallen, but not deceased friend Private Morris. The grenade exploded. All you could see that was left of your friend was an arm, scarred and scorched to the bone.
Yeah buddy, I got your bone right here.
“What was that there?”
“Ummm… nothing. I mean, yeah I remember now. The name’s Bishop, Private Bishop.”
“Whell, pleased to meet you Bishop Private Bishop! May I call you Bishop by any chance?”
“Sure, why not?” You sigh.
It is only now that you look at your surroundings. You are in a small, dark room surrounded with bodies. Some living, some dead. Some human, some Strogg, some neither. Luckily, you and Shemp have the damp corner by the window to yourselves. Judging by the sky, it should be sometime after dusk, but before night. You tell by the way that the clouds are traveling that you are moving. You can’t feel it, but you can sense it. You must be in a train car of some sort. You can make out what looks to be a door on the other side of the car, but you see no means of opening it.
“So, Shemp, now that I know who the hell I am, would you mind telling me where the hell I am?”
“Hall right. You, Bishop, are on your way to Vicari, along with everyone else on this train here.”
“Vicari, huh? What’s that?”
“Why if it’s not the biggest, baddest, and meanest of all of Quake’s isolation camps, Kid. Heh-heh. You know, they say that the entire Vicari camp is the size of Massachusetts. And I’ve even heard that the arena alone is the size of Rhode Island there!”
“Arena? What’s that there?” Oh my God, it’s contagious.
“Hoh, Bishop… if you don’t know I can’t explain it. Just watch your back there, cause chances are that most of the people on this train are gonna get killed.”
“Hmmm… is everyone else on this train going to Vicari, even you?”
The man stares blankly at you for a few seconds, but then you see something in his eyes snap.
“Homigod! Omigod, omigod, omigod! Hi’m going to Vicari! Hoh boy! Think of something Shem, think of something! Ummm.. Ummmm… Ummmmm….” He glances around the room. “Yes! That’s it Shem! You’re a genuied genius there! Heh-heh!”
Before you can even blink, he has jumped on you, grabbed your blaster, primed it up, and shot himself in the chest.
Damn, you think, if this Vicari place is that bad. Well, just… damn.
LARA… Step by step
[DOL] CTF War List