[G'day all. I'm new here so... hello. I thought I'd try my hand at some story telling to start off my stay on gamesas so enjoy!]

A tall, dark skinned man came, entering the warm embrace of the campfire. He glanced around briefly, seeing a strange bunch of Wasteland misfits and outcasts. Two of the most horrific Ghouls he'd ever seen, a middle-aged woman slaughtered in trampy makeup, and a farmer standing by his Brahmin, chewing tobacco.
"Well.... isn't this a happy picknick we have 'ere..." He smiled, attempting to lighten the mood.
No response.
"Heh..... strong silent types then..? Can't say I'm the same I's afraid. So while I'm talkin'.... how's about a story? A fable o' mine I heard some ten years ago. Well?" There was no response from the people at the camp, but a flicker of curiosity grew within them, which most travellers wouldn't notice.
Leo wasn't like most travellers.

"A couple miles of the coast o' DC... 'ere's an island called Point Lookout. Id's a chaotic, hell hole of a place
where weapons 'n riches are plentiful. The folks however.... they're the cause o' this chaos. They're mutated... insane.... wild country folk, wit' a bit too much radiated water if you catch me drift. One o' them however.... one o' them was different. The rest would kill and use bones an' skulls as religious treasures.... they'd take joy'n killin outsiders slowly..... all but one. A man 'round my age..... he was unique. He di'n't go by the "Religion" they 'ave. He was more....... humane. And was disgusted by his bretherin."
The man leant forward, further into the light of the flames. While there was still no physical or oral response from the others, he could tell the curiosity was increasing, and continued his story.

~~

The man rose from his bedroll, entering the real world. While sleep granted him peace, and an ideal land where money means nothing, and death is non-existent, the world of the conscious gave him a damp, dark, run-down shack where the only form of paint is the dry, crimson mess that has engulfed the walls over the years, and death is not only existent, but ironically, is also the meaning of life.
Exiting the shack, a tall muscular man stood clapping on his knee while others played flutes and banjos by a fire. The thick air made him heave, and as he approached the lake, the distinct scent of decaying Mirelurks grew stronger and stronger, conquering his sense of smell. He gathered the water in a bucket just like any other day, and made his way back to the shack.

"'Ey yoouu! Ya' think I'ma let ya' come an' take ma water 'ithout payin' the fine!?" Someone called from behind him, startling him and causing the bucket to drop. As the man turned to face the one who shouted at him, a stroke of fear ran through him. He was a member of the Red-Axe Tribe, a cult of Point Lookout Natives who are slightly more civilised than the rest.
"Why I didn't think it ta' be you boy! This changes things.... the water tax for you... is an extra twenny caps. Haha! Ya' think yer better than the rest of us cos' yer like one o' them "normal folk from the mainland? Ya' bleddy, disrespectful, ungrateful pest o' this island."

The red-axe tribal sneered darkly at the man, who remained calm.
"Perhaps you don't know much about me. My name is Leeland though you probably know that. Yes I do have a problem with the culture of this land, though I'm not gonna change it or get involved. Now.... it just so happens that my sister needs some water, being that she's in bed sick... probably dieing. She is a firm believer in the culture here.... so I admire her for her loyalty, and love her because she's family. Are you really gonna stop me from helping a dear member of this community."
The man stared at Lee in confusion. Although the Red-Axe tribe was more civilised, and understood the meaning and value of a currency, he couldn't keep up with Leeland.

"I uh... y-yeah... 'kay I'll uh... let ya' off THIS time.... now scoot." Leeland grinned victoriously into the man's eyes, and turned around. The people here weren't hard at all to outsmart. You simply needed to SEEM smart to win against their intelligence, and big words usually do the trick.
He began taking his time on the way back to the shack. His sister WAS sick and dieing, but he knew the water wouldn't help her at all. Not this swamp water anyway.
After dropping off the bucket to his sister, who puked into it nearly straight away before proceeding to drink it, Leeland started for his daily walk to the town. He passed the usual sites; Blackthorn Manor, some other Native colonies, and Odd "Ark And Dove" Cathedral.
None of which interested him anymore.

Approaching the Fun-Park, he saw a large group of small, silhoetted blots walking around.
Strange... usually there are only the same three or four traders...." he thought to himself, grabbing the Hunting Rifle from his back, and creeping towards the park behind trees and rocks.
Theblots gradually became larger blots, with colour running through some of them. As the full human shape became apparent, the blots could be identified as heavy suits of black metal armour, and some as white suits with orange glass helmets.
Most were armed with highly advanced weaponry, which, before long, was pointing straight at him when he kicked a stone down towards them by accident. One of them fired into the air as a signal for the others, and a pair of the attackers came slowly up the hill towards him.

Instinctively, Leeland fired at one of them, dealing what appeared to be no damage whatsoever before running to the coast to the South. Massive crashes echoed from the guns the men were carrying, and the stomping of their armour was louder than the sound his own hunting rifle.
Overhead, a large black, bird-like machine flew, flooding the area with the roar of air storming over and under the wings. A sound the island wasn't accustomed to, which made Leeland smile slightly with relief, as Natives would definately come to investigate.
However as th chase continued, things only got worse when three Ghouls joined the chase.
They could be killed easily, however Leeland wanted to outrun the group so that the Ghouls would resort to the armoured pair, slowing them down for at least a few seconds.

The chase eventually came to a halt, when a group of Red-Axe tribals leaped from behind a roofless hut, and began firing at the the armoured men and the ghouls.
While the ghouls dropped easily enough, the pair continued to take the rifle bullets with ease, and caused the Red-Axe memmbers to practically burst into gory messes through single shots of their guns, eliminating all six of them with no problem.
Leeland didn't hesitate to capitalize on the situation, arriving at the docks and hiding under the planks of a boat which he REALLY didn't expect to see.
On board, an elderly man sat in a rocking chair, asleep with a double-barrel shotgun resting on his shoulder.
Leeland could see this only through small gaps i the hull, so he couldn't grab the shotgun, but was hoping that
the armoured men would stop chase when the sailor told them there was nobody onboard.

"Where is he....? Where's that damn hic!?" A man roared on the boat, while the sailor simply, hesitated a moment before yawning, andstomping his foot on the planks once.
"Don't got no hics 'ere I'm mighty afraid. Jus' the lovely lady in the passenger room. Nothin' else I c'n do fer ya'?" The men whispered to eachother for a few moments, before one shot the old man in the face, as the other stormed through a thick wooden door, firing at what was obviously the "Lovely Lady".
The slamming of their boots faded gradually, and when Leelan was sure they were well gone, he came out from under the boat, and climbed aboard panting heavily with nerves.

Can't do it.... not anymore.....
I have to get out of here. He thought to himself.
He glanced at the captain's wheel. And grinned.

Yeah, I wouldn't just post half it, then post the rest tomorrow. With something as short as that, I would save it and then work on it until it has at least a full page of material, unless it's just a prologue(And if that is a prologue, it stills needs some work). And instead of bold-ing the quotes, just put a space in between them and the paragraph, like this:

seen, a middle-aged woman slaughtered in trampy makeup, and a farmer standing by his Brahmin, chewing tobacco.

"Well.... isn't this a happy picknick we have 'ere..." He smiled, attempting to lighten the mood.

No response.

That's how most people do it, thoughts go in italics usually.

And don't give up, don't do that, must people do. I hope you have a plan for this, right? The beginning and the end, with most of the middle. The goals and challenges, if you don't have that figured out, stop and do it.

Other than that, hello and it's nice to have you.

Largely what Ytt said. I start most of my stories off in a manner similar to yours. Mine usually start or at least heavily feature a bar.

No it's not a prologue or anything, I was working on that section last night, but something came up so I had to stop. I would've preferred to finish the 1st post all in one but that's life isn't it?
I meant I was gonna edit the first post which I'm doing when I finish this post.
And bolding the dialogue... that's just a preference of mine. I don't know why

Part 1 now finished. I'll post part 2 when I get a chance.
Also I forgot to answe your question Ytt- Yes I do have the story planned out. There's a lot more to it than simply "Point Lookout guy escapes and lives happily ever after" trust me

By now the campers were sitting down, the curiosity finally glowing in their faces. Leo smiled with approval and continued.

~~

Leeland spent a couple of days sailing. That much he knew, but the specifics were hard to tell in the wasteland. The dark, thick, dirty water below slapped against the boat, occasionaly creeping in between the gaps only to spill back out again. Leeland's face had turned a disturbing green colour, as he had never sailed before, and his stomach definately wasn't ready for it.
In those days of sailing, Leeland was surprised that he only saw one other boat passing slowly along, and he could recognise the smell of Punga Fruit anywhere, so he knew the boat's destination, and hoped that they'd blow the island up when they were finished scavenging.
It wasn't for another few hours, that he realised a kid had jumped from the other boat onto his. The boywas called Coll, and explained that the men were Smugglers, raiding the natives of various Wasteland locations, and selling the goods in D.C. for high prices, before buying them back again for cheap just days later, and again re-selling them as if they were brand new.

D.C. was a disgrace in Leeland's eyes. He was used to the muddy water.. the half-dead trees... the reeds in the swamp...
but here there was sand and black, shrivelled LOGS instead of trees. The occassional caravan would pass by and Leeland would trade with them, but mainly he just wandered aimlessly, looting ruined builings with Coll who acted as a tour guide around the Capital Wasteland. Back home, any Ghoul you had the bad fortune to meet would kill you before you could say Radiation, so when the pair passed a Mercanary named Charon, Coll made it in just the nick of time to stop Leeland from instinctively blasting the ghoul's rotting brains into the wall behind him. Coll explained all that needed to be explained, and Charon decided to let it fly with a grunt and a comment about "Bloody smoothskins..". Raiders attacked Leeland, who killed them looted them, and walewd away casually as if there were no massacre of torn corpses just a few metres behind him. Things were dull. No major attacks except for when Leeland and Coll ambushed a pair of Super Mutants, getting some ammo for the hunting rifle, as well as a grenade and a Baseball bat for Coll so that he could actually help.

"Ssooo.... where we off ta' now?" Coll asked, yawning away the tiredness in his body.
"Dunno." Was all Leeland felt the need to say. He was still wondering about the armored soldies who attacked him at Point Lookout, wondering why they were so hostile. And just who they were.
"Aww.. that's what ya' always say! Why dun' we head ta' Tenpenny Tower huh? I told ya' my aunty's a Goul. She c'n get us in ther'."
"An; if she can't? We jus' get torn apart by Ghouls and say Oh Well?"
Coll huffed and remained quiet for most of the trip. Leeland did have a destination in mind, but he wasn't sure if it were a real place, or just a myth, so he didn't want to get Coll's hopes up. Greyditch was a deserted town, said to be set up by a Ghoul and smoothskin. Leeland didn't know which was the man and which was the woman, but they were apparently married. The town now lets Smoothskins and Ghouls in without hassle, all that it takes is a 10 cap fee for entry.
If it's true what they say 'bout this Greyditch spot, 'en it should 'ave a soldier team an' some folks that get payed to bring scavenge back ta' the town.... maybe I c'n get a job there and lose the kid while I'm at it.
"You better not be thinkin' o' gettin rid o' me.." Coll warned with a smile, as if he could read Leeland's mind. The two laughed for a bit. Laughing in the Wasteland is hard. But those who do it don't do it because they're not afraid of death, in fact it's the opposite. They do as they might never get a chance to
laugh again.

Leeland never got to find out if the rumors were true about Greyditch. Upon arrival, all that remained was a burning ruin. No bodies. At the centre of the
"Town" lay a spear, dug into a note that read;
"On behalf of the Enclave, I'd just like to say.... I can't believe you fell for that rumour."
Coll called out for help, but as Leeland spun swiftly to see where he was, things went black, and the last image he saw before falling unconscious was Coll being carried by soldiers in black armour, before a large yellow, eye-shaped orb surrounded by black metal came up to his face. So close that it engulfed his vision of anything else. Things got even blurrier and darker.
Plain Darkness.