elias-fnv-blog - Tumblr blog

[elias-fnv-blog]

November 18th, 2281

     Westside is the exact same since I was last here. The people are short with you, angry and bitter that out of all New Vegas, this is where they end up. I even went to go visit my old friend Red Lucy.

I see not much has changed around here.

     I suppose I should tell you about Cass.

     I first met Cass at the Mojave Outpost, stuck under miles of bad paperwork, as such things tend to happen with the NCR. She was from out West, and drank whiskey almost chronically. She was great with a shotgun, and pretty easy on the eyes too.

Pictured: the "I'm not spending another minute in this place" face.

     She used to own a caravan or something, I don't know, I didn't really listen when she talked. Anyway she was my companion for most of my adventures with Randall & Associates bounties, and she was good too. Savvy about living off the land, good with a gun and sharp witted to boot. 

     You may notice that I was talking about her in the past tense. Well, one time we were pursuing this bounty. This insane guy, I can't remember his name now... but he was a ghoul militant, leading some sort of uprising, training and fortifying a small army. Cass and myself, as badass awesome as we are, had to fight through this base to reach the target. But I guess he had some sort of trigger on his body because when he died all these feral ghouls came out of nowhere and flooded through the underground fortress. I ran as fast as I could, but I lost track of Cass... I heard her screaming behind me... I couldn't stop. There must have been a hundred of those zombies. I waited at the cave entrance for as long as I could...

     I felt awful. I lamented over her death for a long time. I still do. Needless to say I didn't tell this story to my new friend Raul, who (irony or not) is a ghoul, although I don't think he's going feral anytime soon.

What's really cool is that he hates Fiends as much as I do.

[elias-fnv-blog]

November 17th, 2281

     I can't believe it's been almost a month since I last wrote in my journal. I guess it's because life has been going by so fast lately. Let's see if I can bring you up to speed on things.

     Well it looks like the last time I wrote was while I was at the Mojave Outpost. Since then I've made it back home to Westside all well and good. Being back at my own bed in the Casa Madrid is ...well, it's better than sleeping out there, where you can wake up to geckos humping your intestines. Laying there tracing the cracks in the ceiling just like so many nights before, I think about my dad. His mattress is still in this room. When Dad and I came here the owner of the hotel Marco was nice enough to allow us a room, even though we didn't partake in Pretty Sarah's little business. I was too young to remember then. Dad never talked much about where we came from, only that it was in the NCR, meaning that I am NCR, I guess. He was even more shady about why we left. I keep it on the down low here, though. Most folks in Westside don't like the NCR.

     Part of living in Westside means serving in the militia. I have patrol Wednesdays during the day and Fridays at night, and most of the time I end up taking Marco's Sunday nights so I don't have to pay rent. Most of the time the job is a quiet sitdown, a good chance to repair your weapon or read something. The Fiends don't usually come up this way anymore, so things were tranquil. Not that I don't mind killing Fiends, I hate those bastards. Disgusting lowlifes with no purpose. I don't know how they could bear to live that way.

     I've been keeping busy with my bounty hunting job, bringing targets to justice (although people's definition of 'justice' is pretty relative out here.) For awhile I worked with Steven Randall of Randall & Associates as an independent contractor, and he and I became close friends. But as with all things that I befriend, Randall's luck soon ran out, and he was murdered by a rival bounty hunting business. Randall had warned me about The Judge prior to his untimely meeting with six feet of dirt, an excessively violent man with a perverse desire for redheaded children and also dabbled in the business of slave trading. Business with the Legion had made him powerful, so naturally when Randall and I started cutting in on his business, The Judge took action.

     After Randall died I was next on the hit list. The Judge's goons found me just by waiting at Randall's house and I walked right into the trap, but these guys didn't know the difference between the trigger and their wieners. After that, I tracked down the Judge; he was holed up in some bunker south of town.

     Anyway that business got wrapped up, but my reputation as a bounty hunter prevailed. I got a notice that the NCR was beginning to recruit independent lawmen in Boulder City. Their contracts don't pay as well as Randall did, but I'm able to get by.

Working with the NCR isn't all fun and games. Some soldiers can't appreciate a good selfie.

[elias-fnv-blog]

"It is entirely seemly for a young man killed in battle, to lie mangled by the bronze spear. In his death, all things appear fair." - Homer

[elias-fnv-blog]

[elias-fnv-blog]

Elias is a straight merc.

[elias-fnv-blog]

October 20th, 2281

So today I visited the Mojave outpost.

                                       Selfie game level: apocalyptic.

     Man, all I'm trying to do is go home. Is that asking too much? For almost half a day now I've actually been walking away from Westside, in the complete wrong direction.

     And now here I am, at the Mojave Outpost. Everyone here looks miserable. I headed into the bar hoping to run into some friendly faces, and everyone in there seemed just as grouchy.

I had to take a picture because it was a rare moment where she wasn't holding a bottle of whiskey.

     It's not that I mind NCR troops necessarily. They're nice guys, sure. It's just that sometimes the NCR doesn't seem like it knows entirely what it's doing, and the troops suffer for that. In the back of my mind I remember my dad talking about how we were technically NCR citizens. Potentially, I could join up with them and live that life. The discipline, the camaraderie. Maybe one day.

     For now though I'd just like to get home.

[elias-fnv-blog]

{X}

[elias-fnv-blog]

October 19th, 2281 - 8:08 AM

     After about a half-hour of not drinking because getting service in Goodsprings is like trying to talk a cazador into sweet lovemaking, I headed East into the Mojave, not following any particular marker or road. Eventually I hit some old railroad tracks and took them north, to where I met a delightful-looking group that call themselves 'Powder Gangers.'

                               Everywhere I go I make friends.

     Honestly though, those guys were kind of boring. All they every talked about was how low they were running on cigarettes or how anybody that came after them was in for it. After making it clear that I meant no harm to them, they kindly allowed me to continue north.

     Shortly after that I was stopped by some old fart named Chomps Lewis (seriously, didn't make that up. Guess his brother Popcorn Willis wasn't in town.) He told me that if I went any more north I'd be swimming in deathclaws because they moved into the quarry the town was supposed to be working at. He suggested going south, then swinging around through Primm and then North, because that's supposed to be safer.

     Maybe so but that's also going to take forever. However, I also don't feel like dying a horrible bloody fatality at the hands of some deathclaw, so Chomps finally talked me into going back the way I came.

     So I took the tracks back south. Getting to see all those super-intelligent Powder Gangers was a real pleasure. Soon I left their immediate territory. By then it was getting pretty dark too, and I can't see shit in the dark, so I picked out an old trailer that looked comfortable enough. Turns out this specific trailer was being used as a base for a Powder Ganger patrol, but since they didn't have any beef with me they let me stay the night. Oh well, at least there's someone protecting me while I sleep.

     No shit, I wake up the next morning and they're all fucking dead. I'd blame it on the deathclaws but they usualy don't strip the girl completely naked.

                            Her cigarette supply problems are over.

     Why they left me alive is even more creepy, or maybe they just didn't see me which is possible too, but still goddamn, it's a pretty sobering way to wake up. Nonetheless, I'm on my way to Primm.

[elias-fnv-blog]

October 18th, 2281 - 3:34 PM

     I guess all roads lead to fucking Goodsprings.

     Let me rephrase that: I can't seem to fucking escape this place. First thing that happens to me when I leave town, some total asshole comes up to me and goes all willy-nilly about his 'girlfriend' who was trapped on a 'ledge' by some 'geckos.' He was weird and I got a total "he's gonna trick you and kill you" vibe from him so as soon as he stopped talking to me I walked away and headed for home.

     "Home" for me is north of here, in Westside. That's where Dad and I settled after coming out here so many years ago. I don't remember what it was like back then, I was too little, but Dad used to say that things were even worse before we came to the Mojave. All I do know is that Dad was born somewhere in the NCR, and so was I. Not that I care enough to actually owe them any allegiance or anything.

     Anyway I started northward on this promising little road when I ran into some cazadors. I wasn't havin' none of that shit so I took off straight past them and right into the middle of a pack of hungry fucking deathclaws. I hightailed it back to Goodsprings so fast that I'm pretty sure I barely touched the ground, if at all.

     So after the scare of my life, you'd think I'd want a damn drink. And I did. So I headed into the town's saloon, and was immediately almost attacked by a dog. It's okay though, because the dog's owner was super freakin' hot and calmed the beast down before it could disembowel me. I was too shy to talk to her however, so after saying goodbye I had a seat at the bar.

     And i waited. For ten fucking minutes nobody came to service me. The poor guy at the other end of the bar didn't have a drink either, so I wondered how much longer he had been sitting in that seat, waiting for service. I pondered over whether or not he had the same problem as me and couldn't seem to get out of this shitkicker town, so waiting for service was all he could do.

     It was then that I picked up a holotape marked 'Now Hiring!' on the counter. It wasn't mine, but I figured hey, fuck it. The only ohter guy in the room didn't seem to mind when I swiped it, so no harm no fowl. It's actually an ad for a bounty hunting firm, looking for promising new guns for hire. Considering I'm 22 and haven't been able to hold down a job, might be a good option. If I don't get myself shot and killed.

[elias-fnv-blog]

October 18th, 2281 - 11:36 AM

     My name is Elias. I'm writing because this is the last time I drink to the point where I can't remember the previous week and a half. This time I woke up outside of some small tumbleweed town called Goodsprings with a bunch of shit in my pack that I'd never seen before. Mostly useless junk, flour, sensor modules, some kid's teddy bear.

     But among the fodder I found a thing of pure beauty - a repeater! Sure it looks beat to hell and might fall apart if I try to pull the trigger, but hell, it's nice to look at. I tried it out on a rat pup at about fifty yards and it took me four shots to finally hit it, so yeah, it definitely needs some work.

He never saw it coming. Except when I missed three times.

I went into town to sell all the useless crap I picked up from my late night vodka-fueled adventures, and it actually fetched me a pretty not-terrible sum of 150 caps. I should do that more often!

Before leaving I stopped by the spring to refill some empty water bottles -- I can't promise I remember what was last in them and they do smell weird-- but now I can safely let my walk of shame back to my place.

[elias-fnv-blog]

Creating a Hero: I based Elias' facial structure off of the King, but I added a few modifications of my own to make him unique. He's cornsilk blond, with striking green eyes. Also somehow he got this half-smile that makes him look like a smart-alec cynic, but I'm not going to complain because I like it.

I always think these playthroughs are more interesting when the character is flawed, so in his S.P.E.C.I.A.L. I gave him the Strength of a wet paper towel (STR: 3.) And for his Tag skills I chose Guns, Speech and Survival, figuring that my guy is as sly with words as he is with guns, and hard enough to survive on his own.

Next comes traits. I pick the Trigger Discipline (-20% Speed, +20% accuracy) and Fast Shot (+20% Speed, -20% accuracy), wondering if those two actually cancel each other out? Oh well, time for backstory!

The mod lets me pick from any faction I can think of, even the Enclave, with plenty of jobs to boot. As tempting as it was to start off as an NCR Soldier, I tried to take the road less traveled and picked 'Stranded Settler' because it seemed the most open-ended. And just to make things more interesting, I chose 'Flat broke' when it came to money. Oh boy.

The Roleplayer's Alternative Start mod starts me off randomly in Goodsprings (Yea thanks, Alt-Start mod. Real original. But nonetheless I promised myself I'd work with it.) Most of the posts from now on will be told from Elias's perspective.

~Uncle Leo

[elias-fnv-blog]

Prologue: The Right Man in the Wrong Place

          The year is 2281. The place is the Mojave. This is a broken land, divided among many factions. The delicate balance of power has been disrupted, and chaos fills in the cracks. A breaking point must be reached soon, or else the infrastructure will collapse, and order will be lost. This place needs a hero. But instead it's getting Elias.

          Hello, readers. Since this is an online blog you’ll have to forgive me if I’m hesitant to use my real name. Just call me Uncle Leo. All notes from me directly will be signed as such. Alright, now down to business. I am a loyal Fallout fan. I’ve been playing Fallout 3 and Fallout: New Vegas for a long time now (too ambiguous? Let’s just say as of today I have over 700 hours logged into F:NV according to Steam.) During a few playthroughs I’ve attempted to keep journals as if I WAS my Fallout character, to help further the immersion. However, such attempts were poorly organized and often tiresome. Until now.

          I’ve created this blog for one sole purpose: to be the journal for my next character, Elias. And it is here where I solemnly swear to play him as if he was a real person with a real personality, real thoughts and feelings, and real needs. Needless to say I’ll be playing on hardcore mode, and I have also arranged a myriad of mods to create a unique world where no two playthroughs are the same. I can think of one mod that will immediately affect Elias is the Roleplayer’s Alternative Start mod, because I know Fallout players must be tired of reading a Doc Mitchell beginning every time.

          Maybe if this blog gets popular enough I will post a list of all the mods I am using. But for now, I will keep any followers posted of Elias’s journey through the power struggle that is the Mojave Wasteland with both journal entries and pictures. I hope you enjoy following our adventures!

~Uncle Leo