Spring Valley

The sun rises slowly behind the small desert town of Spring Valley. Life in the desert was difficult enough before the Great War, but finding themselves now cut off from most of the rest of the world those who live in this desert must become self sufficient. Art, Science, Philosophy, these things are lost to the simple need to survive, replaced with agriculture, repair work, and hunting.

Laid out in simple block patterns Spring Valley was an exemplar of the spirit of self sufficiency. Patient work had allowed simple vegetables to be grown in the soil, the leftover produce being buried in the dirt to keep the soil fertile. Brahmin were bred cared for, their milk and flesh providing sustenance for the families who called Spring Valley home. There were hunters within the town who would supplement the meat supply with local wild fare. Wild brahmins, mole rats, and dogs. Brahmin meat was certainly the best of the meats available.

Every member of town was expected to keep his home and possessions in operating order, but there were those who excelled at keeping what little the town had working. A small building beside the brahmin pens stored extra parts and several machines slowly being built up whenever a merchant came by peddling scavenged wares.

As the sun rises behind this desert town a small number of men bleed into the town's borders. They skies are a deep purple as he leads them past the small wooden fences that border the town. They separate and press themselves against the walls of the buildings, creeping pressed against the walls until they come near the center of town. Once there they go to meet the man and drop to one knee.

The early morning wind whispers between the buildings of the town and with it brings a trace amount of sand and the familiar smell of brahmin dung.
He speaks with the men for a moment before they disperse back throughout the town. Returning to the different buildings they stand flush against the wall beside the doors and windows. Some wield guns, others machetes.

A gun shot rings out through the town, echoing loudly in this vast dry expanse. A moment of silence is followed by a moment of action as the men of the town come rushing from their homes. Eagerly they rush to defend their families and friends. The reward for this bravery is a shot or slash in the back. As the last of these first responders fall the leader releases a savage cry, signaling the butchery to begin.

The purple hue of the sky has faded now to a dark blue. As the blue sky gradually brightens the corpses are gathered and most are dumped unceremoniously into the brahmin pens. The few survivors are pulled into the center of town. These are the people those brave men had sought to protect; they are the elders, the women, and the children. The women hold the children and speak to them gently. Some staring defiantly at those who have brought such horror to their town, others just holding their children and burying their heads against their shoulders. The children in turn cling to the women and bury their faces. The elders look these men in the eyes. By the time night has given in fully to day the population of Spring Valley will have been reduced to zero.

“As the shark bites - with his teeth dear,
Scarlet billows – start to spread”

-Mack The Knife, Louie Armstrong

Rullus Tinarus

It is midday as a NCR caravan on its way to the NCR Base known as Nelson decides to make a stop off in Spring Valley. It's not much of a detour and it will allow the men a moment to do a bit of trading and perhaps grab a cold Nuka or some Sassafras. Maybe exchange some of the random items they had picked up, get some extra scrips to spend back in Nelson. As they near the settlement the men can sense that something is not quite as it ought to be. Just that odd sense of silence. A moment later the smell hits them and guns drawn they charge into town.

Reaching the center of town they look about at the nightmare that has been unleashed on this town. In the town center is a heap of charred bodies, a few embers still glowing. Most are unrecognizable but it clear what segment of the population they once were. Small bodies still cling to large. The NCR men split off to look for survivors, gradually understanding the scope of what has happened here. One of the guards comes across the bodies in the brahmin pen. The men who had done this to the town had come back for those bodies. Crudely detached limbs and heads are nailed about the pens. The final reward for those had sought to protect their families.

The NCR members come to realize they will not find any survivors. The population of the town accounted for one of the men does what they had all been putting off. He approaches the sheriff, crucified upside down to a large X the man has a note pinned to his chest with a switchblade.





Attention NCR:

There is no God. There is no God nor all his holy trumpeters and angels in the sky. There is no damnation beneath us. You fight for nothing.

Your man in the sky wasn’t here to save these people, he will not be there to save you when the Legion reclaims these lands and sends you cowering back from whence you came. Your streets will run red with the blood of those you love. Everywhere you turn you will find horror. All that you have built you will see burn to cinders once more.

It is the nature of man. These horrors that you try to isolate yourselves from, these things we have embraced. We bring them to you. What you have shunned we invite, what you shirk from like the cowardly dogs you are we but smile and allow amongst us. Where you are weak we are strong, and we will see your end.

Cheers,

Your good friend, Rullus Tinarus

Awesome. You made another Fanfic. It's quite good, nice and easy to read. I wonder were your going to take this. The only problem I had is right here;



It got a little confusing for me there. Maybe it would be better if it read the leader, but that's just my suggestion. Keep up the good work.

Yeah you're right. I was trying to kind of set "him" aside as a character (as he'll be a recurring character) but going between the group and he is rather confusing, thanks for the insight.

I wasn't sure who the NCR were until I googled it, and saw that they were a group from the earlier games ( that I did not play). The reason I bring that up is I am somewhat confused as to whether the story will continue or not. If it does, I think you have a great start. If not, I'm unsatisfied with the ending. Either way, I would suggest that you change your beginning and start with the raid, the action, instead of all the description. I think it would grab your reader more quickly. Intriguing idea, I would read more if there is more. :mellow:

There's definitely more. I have a good bit more written but I need to spend some time editing it so it actually makes sense given what we know about New Vegas now. I ended up changing who wrote that letter for one thing.

Amnesia by the Ounce


A large undeniably ugly man walks through the center of town. He ducks into a small bar, a smart move getting out of the sun given that his skin is already thoroughly sunburned. The bar is quite similar to any number of bars throughout this Mojave Wasteland. He presses against the counter allowing a young waitress to pass behind. Too young for him, though not by much.

The inebriation of the clientele has a considerable range. Some of the younger wastelanders imbibe just enough to loosen inhibitions. They drink the local cactus beer. The older wastelanders are more economical in their intoxication, low quality but high alcohol content, that's the way to forget about the bad times past and the bad time to come. He sits with them, ordering something roughly akin to vodka. He attends then to his own inebriation, he has set a goal and he means to attain it.

Life is invariably a pain in the ass in the Mojave Wasteland. At any given time you are either hungry, thirsty, tired, poor, or defenseless. If you're really unlucky you combine a few of those. Combine all of those and you'll soon be just another sun-bleached totem in the vast desert.

So...you find a way to survive. You do some things your mother wouldn't be proud of. You do some things that haunt you in the quiet times. You live another day.

These things you do, they add up. They form a burden that you carry around with you wherever you go. This knowledge gains weight, and in time it drags you down just as much as that stranger's gear you have "procured."

Booze helps with that.

He has made considerable headway toward his goal of getting quite thoroughly blitzed. He is now at that stage of inebriation wherein he finds himself continuously moving about ever so slightly.

Leaning into the bar his mind drifts back into the past, ably navigating around the bad times to find the occasional kernels of good, until he becomes aware of a general hush throughout the bar and a presence at his back.

Introductions



“Howdy Mr. Entragian," the man behind him says, "Now what business do you have in my town?"

Can't be too much doubt who it was behind him. In a New California Republic town the guy behind you is inevitably a Ranger. Nine times out of ten he has a gun trained on you to boot.

"I'm just passing through Mr..."

"It's Sheriff. Sheriff Northrop Frye, but you can call me Sir."

"Yes Sir, as I said I'm just passing through," he turns around a bit before feeling something cold and smooth against his temple.

"I've heard about you Collie."

"What have you heard Sheriff?" He asks, grinning a bit despite the less than ideal situation.

"You're a cold bastard. Hear you're maybe more suited to run with "Them" rather than "Us," isn't any truth to that rumor is there?"

He begins to reply as he hears heavy footsteps entering the building. Backup. Now may not be the best time to mouth off.

"Hello gentlemen."

Sometimes he just can't help himself.

is he a vexillarius who crucifies (favourite religion inserted here) gladiators who don't fight as he wishes?

It's good, I like it. It start with a grim description, setting the stage in a fallout world as it were. Then ends with an amusing hook, a wise ass remark from the protagonist.

"He has made considerable headway toward his goal of getting quite thoroughly blitzed. He is now most definitely not capable of driving home though it would have been difficult to drive home anyway, what with the lack of a car, streets, or a home."

This paragraph bugs me, I think it's the reminder of the lack of cars,streets and a home. The reader already knows that those things don't exist, and the comparison of how inebriated he is to to real life situations (ie; too drunk to drive) removes the reader from the story. Maybe just shorten the paragraph or just say he's drunk.

Other than that, I think it's an exciting beginning. Looking forward to more. :thumbsup:

Negative to the crucifixion thing. When I first wrote it he was going to have a ludus though. That was back when I thought that Caesar's Legion ran New Vegas.

Also,

Thank you Spittonist. I'll go ahead and take out those drunk driving references, I think you had a good point.

The Devil’s Luck

A familiar song echoes throughout this most unfamiliar place. It takes a minute but I eventually place it.

It’s Louis Armstrong performing “Kiss to Build a Dream On.” It’s one of my favorites. I’m sitting down at a table. Dark red bordering the green felt surface, we’re playing blackjack.

“I raise you, you’re all in.” My opponent tells me.

I’ve no idea what he’s talking about. I don’t have any chips.

“What are we betting?” I ask.

“You’re all in.” He replies.

It doesn’t take a brilliant man to know that this is a dangerous situation, but I get the sense that to refuse this bet would not be in my best interest.

I made the bet not knowing the stakes. Only now, more than a hundred years later, do I grasp them.



Hello, Good Morning

I find myself lying on a cot in a dank cave. I’m surrounded by young men with stunned expressions. I’m alive.

I am the sole survivor of my unit, lucky me. It’s a curious thing being the sole survivor people look at you funny. They wonder why you lived when the others all died. What makes you so ****ing special. Some of the less tactful ask you questions, they never come out and say it, but you know what they’re really wondering. There is never a satisfying answer.

I stay in the war. I fight beside my brothers in arms moving deeper and deeper into Canada. It’s not an easy task. I watch plenty of my friends die, I kill plenty of young men. You’ve probably seen the famous footage, Power Armored American soldiers executing unarmored and unarmed rebels. My unit walked in on the aftermath. It was like that all throughout Canada. America asserted itself by crushing all dissenters.

It took me awhile but I began to notice a curious tendency. You see through all the ridiculous situations I went through after that one day I never got hurt. Not so much as a twisted ankle. I’d have plenty of close calls but I was always fine. What’s more my unit had unusually high mortality rates.
When I started out I wanted to remember the names of all my fallen brothers; that quickly became utterly impossible. People just have a tendency to die around me, and in the most horrible of ways.

My time in the war ended and I returned home to America. I returned to working with computers; I was always damn good at that, a prodigy even. Eventually I got curious.

The Gift

I hit the Strip. I mean I hit it hard. I made good money with computers, I understood how they worked. I was good with numbers. Vegas though, Vegas was something else. I couldn’t lose. I’d play Roulette and just win. I’d win and win and win. I played Poker and I was unstoppable. I had a crowd amassed around me, the veteran who was winning big. I made a fortune in no time.

That night I got comp’d a room in The Tops Casino. I was lying in bed eating a complementary Steak and Lobster dinner when the phone rang. A car accident had killed my family. My mother, father, and two sisters were hit by a drunk driver. Their Corvega was a mangled beyond recognition.

After the funeral I returned to Vegas. I had nothing tying me down to anything, I was free. I lost myself in the scene there. I grew a reputation. In time I became a celebrity throughout Vegas. I didn’t own a home, but I didn’t need to. Casinos would jump at the chance to comp me a room.

As the war grew in scope and it became gradually more and more clear that the escalation showed no signs of stopping I made preparations. I used my knowledge of computers, my expertise with numbers, and my seemingly never ending supply of luck to create a scenario that would benefit me.

One cold night in the year 2077 the news announced that our worst fears had come to pass. World War was upon us once again, and this war was waged with new weapons. I watched the sky light up, it was as though some absurd number of falling stars were streaming by. I made a wish.

I saved Las Vegas and in the weeks, months, and years after the nuclear apocalypse I rebuilt it into New Vegas.



The Curse

Do you know how long ago that was? I certainly don’t. I have no idea what the year is, nor do I wish to know. In these past years I came to realize that there was something about me that made me fundamentally different than others.

My first wife was the most beautiful woman I had ever seen. She was 5’10 with long blonde hair and a body that men dreamed about. A body I dreamed about, regularly. I watched time steal her beauty and then her mind. I buried her myself. It was 10 years before I fell in love again. She was 5’8 with shorter brown hair and these deep green eyes. She is buried beside my first wife.

I have seen innumerable friends deteriorate and die. I have seen the looks of dismay on their faces as they come to the realization that I still look the same. They cried, they begged, they screamed, but there was nothing I could do. Time ravaged them and I, I was lucky enough to retain my health.

And so I sequestered myself here, within Vault 38, surrounded by machinery as timeless as I. For long years I have ruled here, protected from the sad truth of the world. All must wither and die, all but I.

This is good stuff, you most certainly have my attention. Short, crisp and to the point. I love the luck factor , the mystery of it.

" In these past decades I have realized that there is something about me that makes me fundamentally different than others."
This was the only awkward sentence I found and I had to read it twice to catch it. I don't think it would take him decades to realize he was different than other people, and that is ALL that stood out.

Good job. :thumbsup:

Agreeing with spittoon.. good stuff Smiley

I actually read that sectence differently :blush:

read it as
" In these past decades I have realized that there is something fundamentally different about me, that makes me different from others."
prolly cuz it just flows better in my head

..and, it's probably something you notice about yourself, instead realizing.

Notice says "Oh hey, lookit this. Huh.., waddaya know."
Realize says 'after long deliberation, he finally came to the realization...' as if it was the focus of a long period of self reflection.

I just depends on how you want to weigh the sentence.

Anyway.. it's sweet, and I'm liking it. :goodjob:

brilliant. seems to flow naturally from the opening narrative into first person and able to go back to prose. Like a story just being told, and well.

i am still scared of the bad guy though. yelling savage war cries and tearing around in a lupus wiping out towns and whatnot. it is good that the protagonist can obviously kick his ass.

and the slushy bar staggering. yep.

Pretty good... My one little issue is the kinda thing any editor will make note of.... Less is always more, and in the case of parallel lists, you should keep the number of items equal.
You have three at the front, four at the back... but it's an easy fix. Agriculture and livestock are redundant terms since agriculture covers raising crops and livestock. However, if you don't like my suggestion and want to keep four seperate items, husbandry is a more accurate term to replace livestock.

I haven't had much time to post, but thanks everyone for your input. I'll be making the changes you've all suggested.

A Request


"Funny man. I don't like funny men," one of the men behind Collie Entragian answers, a bit of spit escaping as he pronounces the word men.

"That's alright Simmons. I'm rather fond of cold bastards myself," Frye picks up, "You've got to be a bit cold to survive in this world, ain't that right Collie?"

"I suppose so, not a whole lot of room for cuddling and compliments in this wasteland."

"Well I got some news for ya Collie, you ain't just passing through Nelson."

"I'm not?" Collie answers, raising the tone of his voice on the last word to form a question.

"Nooo, no sir you certainly aren't. See the NCR here, we need a favor and you're just the man to do it."

"Why thank you Sheriff, I didn't know you cared."

"I don't Collie, see that's precisely why you're the man for the job. I don't care about you, the town don't know you too well, and if you disappeared no one would notice. You're disposable Collie."

He sits for a moment, rather he continues to sit. It's not a surprise, it's not like this is the first time the New California Republic has forced someone to do it's bidding, and it's not like it's news that he's disposable. Hell everyone is disposable. Still it's not every day someone stands across from you and tells you your life doesn't mean [censored] to them. Especially when you're the size of Collie Entragian.

"Come with me Collie, I'm gonna tell you a bit about Nelson and what's going on 'round these parts. By the time I'm done you're gonna be begging me to let you help me. I don't need to tell you that wasn't a request do I?"

A moment of silence and a feigned look of confusion from Collie Entragian continues to irritate the Sheriff.

"Get your ass up."

Yeah...Collie's back!

Short and sweet, two minor problems.



Looks like a space ran away here.


This sentence bugs me, I think it's the continue. Seems like it should be continues or continued, but don't take my word for it.

Anyway, keep up the good work!

You ever going to pick up Viddy This?

I like these short chapters. Poor Collie, he's got a bag of sh!t to hold doesn't he?

Too short for me to notice any errors. Waiting to see how you link all this together.

Quick Note:

This story is NOT taking the same approach as the actual game. I'll not reveal the actual story in case anyone has not heard...but I'm taking the approach I thought was best when I first heard about the game and the intro to the game.


The Story So Far


The Sheriff and his two lackeys guide Collie deeper into their town.

"Nelson is fighting for survival son. New Vegas has been doing fine but it's got plenty of commerce and more importantly it's got Securitrons all over the place. Nelson doesn't have any of that crap. The only thing keeping us safe is the general stalemate we have came to with those Legion bastards. A day ago they wiped out a town. Spring Valley is gone Collie. The men, women, and children there were slaughtered. Some of the women were victimized in that special way those Legion ****s love so much."

Collie had heard a bit about all that. It hadn't come as that much of a surprise. The Legion rolling into a town, recruiting who they could and slaughtering those who resisted.

"They didn't recruit a single man Collie. They killed everyone. No looting, no recruiting, they just erased the populace from the face of the Earth. Left a typical message embedded in the sheriff's chest. They're escalating Collie. [censored] is getting worse."

The two men escorting Frye and Collie nod as he speaks. The town was not that far from Nelson, they'd made plenty of trips there themselves on the weekends. They'd played with some of the children who had become ash in the town's funeral pyre. They'd been looking for someone to take their anger out on, besides their wives.

"We need to find out why they seem to have stopped recruiting and we need a weapon to turn the stakes in our favor."

Collie speaks up, "So send your men out, Vegas is crawling with guards spending half their time getting drunk."

"Can't do that Collie. Got too much to lose there, besides New Vegas may well hold the answer itself."

They now enter a large building near the back of town.

"We need someone who can get along with the Legion just as easily as they can get along in New Vegas. We need someone whose loyalties are unknown."

They approach a door in the back of the building they have been walking through.

Collie responds as they pause before the door, "If you're looking for someone whose loyalties are unknown, how can you trust him, how can you trust me?"

Frye stands before the door and the four of them gather about it.

Wasteland Graves


"I'm going to be frank with you Collie. I'm the coldest son of a ***** you're ever going to meet. I eat lightning and crap thunder. I'm a real bad mother ****er."

Collie smiles a bit to himself.

"It's true though,"

Frye continues looking off to the right and picking a bit of jerky from between his teeth,

"Look at this world son, it's survival of the fittest. Now there are others out there fitter than I, hell you're bigger than me, but I'll tear you apart. I got that switch ya see and it flips one way real easy but switching it back off that ain't easy. That's whats kept me alive Collie. That's what has allowed men like me to maintain the New California Republic after that pie in the sky ***** Tandi died. That switch Collie, that switch is why I can trust you."

They step fully through the door and out of town proper. Behind the town stretches a field of earthen mounds. Wasteland graves.

"I can trust you Collie because I'm desperate. If you **** with me I will tear your world to pieces. I'll imprison and kill anyone who so much as smiles when I mention your name. See when I hear that you've skipped town, you've just headed down to Reno or maybe East, whichever, when I hear that you know what's going to happen right? That's gonna flip that switch in this head of mine."

The men flanking Collie grab him about the elbow, one of them pressing the muzzle of a snub nosed .38 into his side.

"I deal with the toughest sons of ****es in the driest desert in the world son. You just had the bad luck of running into me on the wrong day. You're my man Collie, you're going to do this for me. If you succeed you'll be richly rewarded and make me one happy son of a gun, if you fail you'd best die trying."

The men flanking Collie drag him a bit out into this makeshift graveyard.

"I shouldn't really have to ask you son, but which side of the fence do you fall on? You coming back with me and being a good little dog, or are you spending the rest of eternity in my backyard?"


OOC: I was going to put in a Full Metal Jacket reference into that "I deal with the toughest..." paragraph but I figured even with the profanity censored I might still get a Warning for it.

Any feedback is very much welcome. It's been a long time since I posted last and I damn near gave up. These forums seem to be slowing to a standstill with NV on the cusp or release. If you have any advice on my writing or if you have ideas for a scenario you'd like Collie to encounter I'd be happy to mine your head for ideas.