Greetings, I'm not very experienced with this but I've wanted to write this story. It's really an idea of my local area in the Fallout future with the main characters being based on myself and my freind. Of course, it lacks a bit of imagination but its easy to write. I'd really appreciate some feedback and advice. If you don't know anything about Mormons, you need to learn. My writing is definatley biased.

Southern Idaho, a mix of rugged rednecks and people who'd been far too babied by the modern world. Vault-tec properly avoided placing many vaults in the area. People in the area were to skeptic to buy an expensive spot in a vault and beleived they could manage the post nuclear world on their own. Luckily, China decided not to stike Southern Idaho because its importance in America wasn't important after so much technological advancement. Of course, the people didn't pass cleanly. Radiation was still a problem and they were lost without the outside world.
The greatest factor in the post-nuclear development was explosion of religous tension. Non-Mormons found it difficult to live alongside Mormons in pre-war society. They were seen as mislead fanatics who needed to leave everyone alone. Mormons treated their bretheren well, but were less supportive to others and always willing to "accept" anyone.
The Mormon population had prepared in advance for armageddon. At first, they were fully benevolent and distributed food to the needy. Once supllies ran low, a rationing system was immposed. LDS leaders began gathering supplies and distributing them to families as they saw fit. People who didn't have their own stockpile despised the system. People believed that the Mormons were still pampering their own. This belief was actually unjust as the distributers were actually quite fair but the family based distribution seemed tipped towards the larger familes. Since Mormons did commonly have larger familes they simply received more, but still more than was fair.
Once the rest of society began to reform, things turned sour. Many LDS followers tried to limit trade on the grounds that many traders sold tainted goods: drugs, alcohol, and slaves. Really, they wanted to maintain their influence as the primary suppliers. Finally, a war for freedom insued. This limited trade left them with only a pre-war stock of weapons and ammo to defend against raiders. Everyone who was armed, experienced, and prejudiced (and in real life, there is A LOT around me, self included) rose up. Those that were content simply stood aside or defended the current way of life. Bloodshed was largely limited to these defenders since the Mormons were willing and able to leave to form their own society. Some Mormon youths who detested their strict upbringing stayed behind. Now unrestricted, people moved to developing everything they needed to thrive in the nuclear hell hole.

I'll get to work on the real story tommorow

I honestly don't know about this. Religion is a touchy subject here and is generally not allowed. However, this is a fanfic, so I imagine that as long as you don't go into any great detail on the subject, you shoud be fine.

As for the story itself, there are some misspellings and such here and there, but nothing bad. I'll leave any further comments until I see the first chapter.

well, i worried about that, but thats part of the reason im moving the religion out. There is mention in fallout lore about an all mormon vault thats actually at least as baf as this. once i get to the story itll be raider and mutants casuing trouble

raiders and mutants causing trouble, how very imaginative.








...except it isn't

hence, my lack of experience. i dont plan on making new enemies, but im planning on some unique scenarios

Chapter One: Just like anyother day


"Oh, come on. Stop coming down here without your pants," the inn keeper stated with definite disgust.

Jack yawned as walked down the stairs and said, “Sorry Oats, but I don't see any reason to get dressed to take my morning piss." He was young man with short black hair.

"It's indecent, and your friend is even worse. Brining in random women from the street into my fine establishment. They've got places for that elsewhere in town."

"Oats, we're damn near the only ones who even rent rooms from you. Besides, those other places only let you use their own girls," Jack retorted. Otis didn't really have much business; caravaners usually slept outside or went for the brothels. Jack wasn't too keen on vices and Dillon didn't want to walk across town to find him before they shipped out. "Is your s***er working today Oatmeal."

"Yes, and would you quit with the silly names," he replied with a scowl. Jack just chuckled and strode into the restroom. While he was busy, Dillon came out scratching his room scratching his head. The innkeeper noticed him on the stairs and shook his head. "At least you get dressed in the morning," Otis mumbled.

"Well, good f***ing morning to you to," Dillon retorted, “Why are you so uppity with your customers." Dillon looked like very large hippy with his ling mangy hair.

"I'm only uppity with you because I don't like you brining in those tramps. I know what you're doing and you need to stop flaunting it. You make too much [censored] racket at night and walk down here like you own the place."

Even behind the restroom door, Jack could here Otis and he laughed. Dillon loved seeing the old man get frustrated, in fact he tampered with the toilet once and dropped a log just to see him cuss up a storm. "Otis, you shouldn't be jealous just because your old woman won't play with ya. Speaking of which, has she got crackin' on breakfast yet." And for once in a rare while Otis smiled. It made him happy that the two "youngsters" were less fond of his wife than he was.

"Oh, she'll get to it," he replied.

At this point Jack strode out and remarked," S***, Satan's up already?"

Otis chuckled and returned, “You boys need anything to drink first off."

"Too early for beer. 3, 2, 1, alright now it's beer time," Dillon stated with a humorous tone. Jack just asked for water and headed back upstairs to get dressed. Within an hour they were served. Theresa the Terrible emerged from the kitchen with two plates. "Here you go boys," she said her nice voice. Jack thanked her and Dillon grabbed for his silverware. Before he got his fork to the table, he caught the back of the large woman's hand and his face. "Aint you forgetting something," she said in mean voice. Dillon rubbed his jaw and said his thanks. "That's better," she replied before slapping them both, Don’t you boys a better than bring guns to the table

They both voiced their pain. "We have to leave early today, Theresa," Jack explained.

She scowled and said, “That’s no excuse," and let them be. They quietly ate their meals until she was out of sight.

Otis cackled, “Try livin' with her boys." They both shuddered.

"Otis, that woman is the reason I don't want to get married," Jack called out.

Dillon said through a mouth full of hash browns," Dude, you don't even get close to many women. JESUS!" A butter knife flew past his face.

"Don't you talk with your mouth full," Theresa shouted.

"Why'd you attack me, Jack was sassin' you," he replied after taking a gulp.

"I don't care what you boys think, I care how you act. Besides, he's better behaved."

After their morning entertainment, both men grabbed their weapons and there packs. Jack carried a standard army assault rifle (Fallout 3 "Assault Rifle") and Dillon packed a military light machine gun (not present in Fallout 3 but appears in Fallout 2) and a sawn- off shotgun. Dillon was definitely more muscular but Jack had always tried to be smarter. They said their goodbyes and headed out. "So, where was your lady friend today," Jack queried as they walked to the atomic car the trade company let them use.

"She took off last night. I guess she didn't want to cuddle."

"Kay, can we leave it that, you have a habit of being too descriptive," he interjected. Dillon chucked his large gun in the back seat and took the wheel while Jack rode shotgun with his rifle.

"Why the hell do we have to be there so early today," Dillon complained. He preferred to sleep late.

"The guys in charge think the caravan is less likely to get hit if it leaves earlier," he replied.

"Then why the f*** do they have us to guard it."

"Just in case"

"F***"

They pulled up to the city limit which had been fortified with low walls built from destroyed houses. Other guard cars and trucks of goods were already there and more were arriving. Everyone manage to make a nice double file line (the most that would fit on the old highways). Dillon took a swig from a beer that was chilled from being out in the car in the autumn cold. "Dude, I still that's the best thing to do man," Jack warned

"Please, we've been doing this for three years, and still haven't caused in problems. You to stop reading that pre-war garbage," Dillon replied

"Drinking clearly impairs your driving abilities among other things."

"I'm not even drunk, I'm buzzed."

"Ya, well, your buzz put 6 dents in this car and the company isn't happy."

"Well, they only yell at me so you shouldn't care. Plus it doesn't impair my ability to shoot them Injins." Ijins or Indians were a common term used for caravan raiders. It was a reference to old west stories of cowboys and Indians even though most raiders were never actually Native American. In fact, the caravan probably employed more Native Americans than the raiders did.

The convoy had started moving, but before long, the new departure time proved to be nothing but a failed precaution. One of the guard cars exploded. None of the others vehicles were damaged by the blast since they spaced themselves out.

Dillon hit the brake and grabbed his gun from the back. “Here we f***ing go"

(now spell checked)

Well first off, this story is rife with misspellings. If you have Word, you can type it on there, or type it here and then paste it there first. Doing so ought to help eliminate the spelling and grammer problems this forum is rife with. Your writing is far from the worst I've seen though, so congratulations on that.

One thing I don't like is when characters curse a lot. Every now and then is fine, but not all the time. I suppose it's understandable under the circumstances, but it just seems crude to me.

i dont really care about spelling because people can usually tell what it should say though I know it's jsut common courtesy. As for the swearing, I said the main characters are based on myself and my friend and that's the way we are. Plus, the characters are kind of just creatons, so...

Thanks for saying it isn't THE worst. I'm trying to expand my vocabulary.

Just because we've got the common sense to decipher the spelling mistakes doesn't mean we enjoy doing so. It also makes the writing look sloppy and, well, not very good. As for the swearing, I often swear a long in real life, but when I base characters on myself I don't follow every little detail. I suggest you just leave the swearing part out...That many asterixes ruins any piece of writing.

I agree,
Is this a fanfic or a rp?

fanfic