Unshelled Bullets, First Fan fiction Draught Options

[grif11]

ok, Im no writer, but heres a little prologue that should introduce the story and let non-vegas players get an idea for the setting.

Prologue

The Mojave Wasteland. Most folks think of it as a barren desert, filled with nothing but gangs of chem-crazed convicts and mutant bugs. Not a bad description, but us wastelanders see a lot more than the puddles of irradiated ooze. We made homes in the crumbling ruins of the cities, We tamed the more useful mutated animals and hell, we even made our own card game.

I'm a peace-keeper by trade. I travel from town to town, helping people with problems and putting bullets in legion skulls. Sometimes though, I'll see a pretty little nik-nak that the owner doesn't seem to be watching, and it might "go missing". I like to think of it as a bonus that they forgot to mention. Still, people love me.

While I'm sitting at a campfire, cooking up a pot of squirrel stew, Travellers sometimes spot me and have a seat next to me and my posse. They always ask me the same thing: "Go on! tell us how you got so damn famous!"
I always tell them the same thing, that I Retired from NCR and put my skills to better use. Its not a lie, but its not the whole story. I'm getting on now, and it's about time I let the world know the REAL story of Raymond Will.

Mojave wasteland:



CONSTRUCTIVE criticism welcome!

This post has been edited by grif11: Jun 4 2011, 09:36 PM

[grif11]

Sorry this took so long, but I've been distracted by some other fanfics. Lets call it research.

Chapter 4: Brahmin and Bandits

If I had to say anything about that journey, it would be that it showed me how much the bombs had changed the world. The Mojave itself is basically the same, just less trees and more irradiated craters. However, places called Washington and Illinois used to be giant cities, filled with huge buildings and filled with people in fancy suits. At least that's what the caravaneers told me. It's hard to believe when your whole world is a ruined motel and a dinosaur statue.

Anyway, the journey took us about two days that just seemed to fly by. Maybe it was all the sites I was seeing that made the time go by. The trader I talked to turned out to be a real friendly guy and would point out points of interest, like HELIOS 1 and the El Dorado Dry Lake. I tried to make something that resembled a map, but quickly gave up. Illiteracy didn't help.There's one problem though. Small caravans in the wasteland are the perfect target for groups of raiders and cazadors who breed too close to the roads. But we faced a different enemy on our journey.

It was early morning, just after my daily Brahmin feeding when I spotted some shapes running at me not too far away. After looking through the old binoculars, I saw some men dressed in odd armour, charging towards us. I had seen a couple groups of raiders before, back when I had been with Eagle, but these men looked different. They seemed more organised and trained. Anyway, after spotted them I quickly ran over to the others. "Raiders! About six, 3 carrying 9 millimeter SMG's and 3 with hunting rifles. All of them had Machetes"
"Good work alerting us, kid. But how did you see all that so fa-" One of the mercenaries began, before being cut off by an explosion.

After the dust settled from the dynamite, I saw them, much closer now. Each bore a symbol of a bull on their armour, and were they wearing skirts!? They began throwing spears at the startled crew, hitting one in the leg and another in the back of the head.I decided that now wasn't time to fight, and ran for my life. Only one spear chased me, and landed to my side. Who are they? and why are they in skirts? I thought to myself while I crouched behind a rock, peeking out to see how things were going.

The caravaneers had taken up arms and had began fighting back against the skirtmen, but I could see it was looking bad. They were armed with only pistols and a couple of shotguns, and were three men down. I had to help them. Taking my rifle off my back, I aimed at one of the skirtsmen. I had learned that the best thing to do when facing a new enemy is learn where he wasnt protected well. In this case, the legs were an obvious choice. However, there was armor in only a few places on their torso, and their heads were covered in nothing but some sort of mask and goggle combo. Good against sandstorms, but not against bullets. The men were fast on their feet however, and had now drawn their machetes and were carving up the crew. fter a few misfire, I finally caught one. I was shocked when his head just exploded into some sort of gory paste, but thats life in the wasteland for you.

The fight finally ended, and I had three more kills to my name. We had just survived and now we were a caravan of four. me, two mercenaries, the trader I met, and two Brahmin. One less than when we started with. But on the upside, two less mouths for me to feed.

The mysterious Skirtsmen:



This post has been edited by grif11: Jul 31 2011, 07:12 PM