Autumn's Tale, My attempt to put to "paper" the story of my FO4 character Options

[ArtemisNoir]

OK...*deep breath* here goes.
I've thought about actually writing down this story for several years, but, for one reason, or another, I've never quite managed beyond a sentence or two. Right now, my life is topsy turvy, but, ironically enough, it's also a good time to begin. Both encouraged by, and inspired by, Renee and Treydog, I've mustered the courage to finally post. Some notes first, though:

* Anyone familiar with the game will observe I'm using mods. I don't go overboard, or anything, but there are changes.
* This fiction is based on the main events of the game, but, sometimes, there will be differences in the details.
* I have tried to strike a balance between enough exposition so that anyone who doesn't know the game won't feel lost, while those that do won't be overly bored. I'm not sure how well I'm succeeding, but it's something that will evolve as it progresses.
* I'm hoping to post an installment once per week, each entry consisting of somewhere between 600 and 900 words. So... not huge chapters, but they're manageable. Right now, I'm not having any trouble getting out the words, so perhaps I'll eventually increase the schedule. As I wrote though, I'm also distracted by RL, so I'll see how it goes.

~ ~ ~

Entry 1: Awoken



Her first sensation was one of light. Searing and brilliant, it was nearly an assault after her struggle through Vault 111’s dimly lit passageways. Long moments passed, and then, perhaps jolted by realisation, as well as the view before her, Autumn gasped, reeling.

The Vault had been constructed on a small hill, and from her relative vantage point, she took in the wreckage of her home, and the small suburban neighbourhood in which she….no… they… had lived. The urge to scream and flail wildly almost overwhelmed her; somehow, maybe it was instinct, she repressed it.

Trying to steady her breathing, Autumn attempted some level of coherent thought. Time blurred, only the sun’s high position in that blazing, cerulean sky told her that no more than a few minutes had elapsed. Grappling with the stark certainty of her circumstances, and for want of a more obvious plan, Autumn slowly began to make her way down the hill, noting, despite herself, the dappled display of sunlight that glittered through the verdant canopy overhead. This, though, made her pause. The trees surrounding her towered high, their trunks gnarled and witness to countless seasons. Although she remained on the edge of hysterical panic, walking had calmed her somewhat, and it was impossible to ignore the onslaught of her thoughts.

“Those trees were hardly more than saplings..... how much time has passed?” she muttered. Her only answer was a strident caw somewhere deep within the leafy branches. “A crow?” she queried. Autumn shook her head, recalling the giant cockroaches that had impeded her progress through the vault. She, no doubt, needed to worry about whatever wildlife existed in this surreal new reality, but crows represented the least of her concerns. Another thing of note was that the path she followed, familiar, yet not, appeared oddly clear of debris, and an obvious attempt had been made to prune the bushes that sprawled alongside it. Autumn found herself unsure whether these observations provided comfort or unease.

A few steps further brought her to a small wooden bridge that traversed a glittering stream.
Miraculously, both were much as she remembered. Memories…. Autumn closed her eyes, flicking them open again as a surge of nausea threatened. Shaking, she lowered herself to the bridge, sitting down, her legs dangling just above the burbling water. Had she not seen her husband shot at point-blank range as he attempted to protect Shaun, their infant son, from kidnappers, mere hours before, and were it not for the grimy pastel-coloured rubble she could glimpse through the trees, it would have been almost idyllic.



Aware that she could not rest for long, Autumn attempted to stand. She swayed, light-headed; a sudden growling made her tense, but at a second wave of nausea she realised that it was her stomach, and she remembered her last meal, a bowl of Sugar Bombs and the coffee that had been prepared by Codsworth, their ever buoyant Mr. Handy Robot. The day had seemed normal, even finally opening the door to that persistent Vault-Tec salesman and securing their spots in the nearby underground facility, did little to indicate the turn their lives were about to take. After that, her recollections became a tumble… cuddling Shaun, discussing their plans for the day, then, Codsworth urgently calling them to the TV. They arrived in time to hear the anchorman announcing that bombs, nuclear bombs, had dropped. Panic. Horror. Disbelief. Their rush to the vault. Fragmented images flashed through her head. Autumn lurched, and vomited the contents of her stomach. Sugar Bombs did not taste sweet the second time around.

All too mindful, after voiding her stomach, that her body was now bereft of anything that might be considered food, Autumn willed herself to push forward. Up close, the jumbled, torn rubble, the homes her neighbours had lived in, and strewn human skeletons told the harrowing story of those who had not been on Vault-Tec’s list.

For possibly the first time, Autumn’s sentiments towards Sanctuary, the suburban community in which they’d lived, were without conflict, though she did reflect that its developers had likely never intended for the name to be ironic.

Walking up the gently winding road toward her old home felt strange; Autumn remembered all those times she’d ardently wished the place could be transformed into something different; she also remembered the never-ending fights with Nate as she argued that her apartment in Cambridge was a preferable location. Now, stumbling over rubble, fallen trees and the bones of her neighbours, she experienced a bleak, deep stab of remorse. A wave of memory engulfed her, and the impossible brightness of the day faded into black as Autumn teetered to the broken ground.



This post has been edited by ArtemisNoir: Apr 21 2023, 07:38 PM

[ArtemisNoir]

Entry 5: Portent and Power

Preston Garvey, the man who had urgently appealed to them for help, introduced himself as one of the last remaining Minutemen. From what Autumn could glean, they were much like their historical namesake; a civilian militia dedicated to protecting the powerless. She couldn't escape the sudden feeling of having went back in time, rather than forward.

Autumn’s attention was particularly drawn by the woman, introduced by Preston as Marcy, who paced angrily up and down the worn floorboards. Marcy, arms defensively wrapped around herself, as if expecting a blow from any direction, glared at her, emanating both rage and despair. Her husband, Jun, was hunched upon the floor, rocking to and fro, as he stared at some distant point far beyond the room’s shadowed confines. Watching the couple brought a flood of memory, and Autumn turned away, feeling as though she had intruded.

Preston, and Sturgis, a fellow who was apparently some sort of mechanic, had informed her that an intact suit of power armour was situated on the museum’s rooftop, along with a vertibird and minigun. These items, they insisted, would be just what was needed to take on the raiders that were incoming, the only problem being that they required the power of a fusion core to function, one of which was locked away somewhere in the museum’s basement. How they knew danger to be imminent was revealed when she spoke to an older woman seated on the sofa. The dog, Autumn noted, was positioned close to the woman’s feet in a protective stance.

Mama Murphy, as she’d been introduced, eyed her with a vaguely glassy, yet penetrating, stare. “I can see a bit of what was, and what will be. And even what is, right now. And right now I can see there's something coming. Drawn by the noise, and the chaos,” she intoned. Her voice, somehow both forceful and quavering, had a raspy, breathless pitch that was unnerving.

Autumn stepped back, cautious; this singular woman could have just stepped from the vintage clothing and esoterica shop she remembered. She’d always been very sceptical of fortune-tellers and their ilk; most, from what she’d observed, were charlatans, and beyond that, their “craft,” in her view, flew in the face of all the legal training she’d ever undergone. Even an uncannily accurate Tarot reading she’d once consented to, at the coaxing of her more mystically-minded friends, she’d dismissed as vagaries and coincidence.

Mama Murphy continued in the same portentous vein, “Horns, scales…. DEATH…. it’s ANGRY.”

Codsworth, recalling her opinions on anything involving the occult or paranormal, cast Autumn a nervous, sidelong glance. Repressing a groan, Autumn, shifting the conversation, motioned to the shepherd. “Is he your dog, he’s beautiful?”



“Oh no, that’s Dogmeat, he led you to us cause he knew we needed your help. Dogmeat's thoughtful like that. But, he’s his own man, what you’d call a free spirit, he’ll follow you now, I’ve SEEN IT.” Autumn, smiling politely, indicated that she should return to the museum’s lower floors to hunt down the fusion core.

As she made her way to the building’s basement, Autumn’s thoughts pulled her in two different directions, though both were shaped by concern and irritation. The more practical, pressing matter was that she, in fact, possessed some small knowledge of power armour; Nate had shown her a set once, when she’d visited him at his training base. Her impression, at the time, had been one of horror, and, now, the thought of being trapped within its ponderous bulk brought a damp sheen of sweat to her face.

She weighed foregoing the cumbersome suit altogether, knowing full well that once enclosed by its mass, she might well panic, rendering its protections pointless. This thought also returned her to the acute dread she’d experienced upon being placed into the unnaturally cold “cleansing pod,” following their flight to the vault. However, keenly aware that the present required her attendance, she did her best to banish it.

The second irritation, albeit minor in comparison, involved Mama Murphy. Much as Autumn was loath to admit it, there was something about the old woman that actually rang true, and that unsettled her.

“Penny for your thoughts, Ma’am?” Autumn had forgotten that Codsworth had floated down the stairs to join her.

“Mmhmm… I’m just thinking I’d rather not wear that suit of power armour.”

The robot tutted in consternation, “Miss Autumn, you STILL have a bullet in your leg, need I remind you?”

Though touched by the robot’s obvious concern, she sighed. “Yes, but if I’m frozen by the terror of being in that blasted suit, the damned thing won’t do me much good, will it?”

Codsworth conceded that Autumn had a point, but assured her that he’d most certainly lend his firepower against whatever onslaught threatened. “That’s, of course, if more raiders even are coming,” muttered Autumn.

“You forgot the bit about horned, scaled death,” Codsworth offered helpfully. Autumn did not respond.

For some undecipherable reason, looking well pleased with himself, the robot visibly smirked.

A few minutes later, Autumn held the much sought fusion core, as well as several stimpacks that had been deposited near it. Resolving to use one of the stims to treat her leg a second time, before confronting the raiders (if they were in fact coming), Autumn wondered how it was that a mechanic, who was presumably long familiar with his environment, had failed to pick the simple lock that had guarded said fusion core.

This post has been edited by ArtemisNoir: Apr 21 2023, 10:33 PM