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]

@Acadian,
the explanation regarding Dogmeat is actually in the vanilla-game, and I felt it made sense to just go with it. I mean, we already have a fortune teller in our midst, so why not a supernaturally aware canine too? Though, there are plenty of "interesting" theories out there concerning the pup.

I've tried further shortening some paragraphs where it comes to dialogue, though, in some places, I've kept bits together because it occasionally makes sense. Thanks for pointing this out those examples, I definitely appreciate it!

@Renee,
Heh! Yep, I remember going to Wikipedia when I first played the game as well. I do know a bit about US history, but not in-depth, so I was curious about the Minutemen. And, oh yes... they definitely do have those hats; to be honest, though, I kind of like them.

@Macole,
Indeed.... The number of times I have said while playing most games, "Why me?"

@Treydog,
Cheers
I wish I could take credit for deliberately giving Autumn a weakening trait, or one intended as RP... I'm claustrophobic in RL, though, and because of that, I have a lot of trouble using PA, or even just basic heavy armour, when I play games. So.. it's almost necessary to give Autumn the same problem, since I actually have no real idea how to write about PA. Plus, if I'm honest, I also just don't like it very much, it's loud and clunky. Still... it does make for some creativity during combat at times, and I have sometimes used it in the RP sense.

@SubRosa,
I'm glad I succeeded in giving snapshots of each character, that's definitely what I was aiming for.
Oh yeah.. run-on sentences are certainly a habit I've picked up over the past few years because of some other writing I've been involved with, so I appreciate the reminder. I have tried, with this entry, to reduce them a bit, though there are still some I kept, where they seem to fit.

~~~

Ugh... yeah... I've always thought Sturgis not being able to pick locks was ridiculous, and entirely needless poor writing on Bethesda's part. Why they didn't just say something like, "Hey, we have the fusion core, but after everything that's happened, we were trying to figure out what to do." They still come off as helpless, and as though they're waiting for the protagonist to come along and help them locate certain parts of their anatomies, but at least it would be a little more logical.

~~~

A note: I've been debating whether or not to add this preamble, but, in the end, I decided it might be a good idea. One section in this entry was... somewhat difficult for me to write, which means it might also be difficult for some people to read. I haven't broken any forum rules or anything, and there's simply implication, nothing further... but it's there. You'll know you're close when you see the name "Gristle." So... light trigger warning.

~~~




Entry 6: Lessons Learned

Codsworth, excited at the sight of the power armour, proclaimed, “I say Ma’am, you’ll be unstoppable in that!”



Eyeing the rusted suit with considerable trepidation, Autumn grimaced and jammed the fusion core into the indent at its back. Several things happened almost simultaneously. The metallic exoskeleton of circuits, steel, and bolts shuddered and emitted a shower of blindingly blue sparks, accompanied by an ear-splitting, clanging screech. It then, almost in slow motion, swayed to the ground, visibly coming apart as it did so.

Relieved that the decision had been made for her, Autumn glanced toward the vertibird and the minigun within. Several generations of rust had taken their toll here too; the weapon had dropped from its disintegrated mount and Autumn questioned whether it would even still fire. She was also forced to conclude that Preston and Sturgis, in their beleaguered state, had failed to accurately assess the condition of the equipment they’d been so eager to commandeer.

Abandoning the useless power armour, Autumn, and an anxious Codsworth, re-entered the museum and descended to the first floor. Cautiously, she cracked open the door and scanned the area. If more raiders were in the vicinity, they had yet to show themselves; the three-way intersection in front of the museum appeared devoid of life, except for the crows that were perched on blackened telephone poles.

For a moment, she wondered why the birds took no interest in the previously dispatched raiders; however, she was acutely grateful for their apparent lack of appetite.



To further ensure the area was deserted, Autumn fired an experimental shot at a rusted out car nearby. Although this caused the car to explode, only the flapping crows reacted. Codsworth suggested they hide in one of the buildings lining the road; it would provide cover, and allow Autumn the chance to snipe at any raiders, while the robot distracted them with his flamer and saw.

Glad she’d grabbed one of the odd pipe-like rifles she’d found when rifling through a dead raider’s kit, she loaded its magazine with several rounds of .38 bullets, thankful that they were a particularly common variety of ammo. Although the gun was a cheap, rudimentary affair, it offered a far faster rate of fire than the much sturdier musket, as well as possessing a similar range. Of course, all of this was assuming the raiders actually did appear.

Harsh shouts and the scuffing of boots on pavement could be heard in the near distance. Autumn glanced at Codsworth, her expression both wary and, for a moment, blatantly disbelieving. From her position, Autumn saw the group was gathering around the charred, dismembered corpses strewn near the museum. She could hear increasingly alarmed yells and bits of conversation.

“Bo and Annie are dead, what the Hell are we gonna tell Little Dougie!?” Autumn paled.

“They’re raiders, Miss Autumn, it is critical you remember that,” said Codsworth in a low, but firm, tone. Admonishment delivered, the robot, at full speed, announcing himself with oddly anomalous shouts of “Tally Ho!” and “Have at thee!,” accelerated toward the knot of raiders flamers ablaze and saws whirring.

Autumn, gritting her teeth, and reflecting that Codsworth demonstrated far more combat prowess than he’d suggested he possessed during their breakfast conversation, took aim. “One down,” she muttered.

The raiders, though, while neither the most disciplined nor organised fighters, were not lacking in awareness, and one, the man she’d heard referred to as “Gristle,” turned in the direction of her shot. “You guys deal with the robot, I’m gonna check what’s in that building,” indicated Gristle.

Codsworth’s opponents, now bloodied and suffering multiple burns, glared wordlessly at their leader’s apparent retreat. Trying to maintain her advantage, Autumn slipped behind a counter just seconds before Gristle entered the dilapidated shop. Before his eyes had the chance to adjust, she silently reached for her pistol and fired. Autumn’s bullet, however, went wide and merely grazed the heavily scarred figure. With horrifying alacrity, he unsheathed a serrated combat knife and advanced towards the counter, breaking into a slow, gratified smile when he spied his quarry.

Shaking, her blood running cold, Autumn fired again, this time managing to hit Gristle’s upper arm. He winced in pain, but did not slow his approach. Her finger squeezed down on the trigger, and losing all control, Autumn pumped the few remaining 10 mm bullets into Gristle’s torso. His leather chest piece, however, provided Gristle with a measure of protection, and although wounded, he growled and grasped Autumn’s shoulder, pinning her to the wall, his heavy breath foetid upon her.

Instinct took over, and with a scream, she brought her knee up in a forceful, adrenalin-fuelled slam.

Gristle let out an agonised grunt, and, clutching at himself, venomously spilling expletives, he staggered to the side. Seeing her chance, Autumn jumped up, pushed past the heaving Gristle, and ran out into the road, grateful she’d remembered to use another stimpack before re-engaging the raiders.

Codsworth, looking worse for wear, was battling two profusely bleeding raiders; their fellows having joined those whose lives had already seeped into the ground. Quickly, Autumn raised the pipe rifle and shot; her target lurched, and Codsworth brought his saw to bear.



From the balcony above, Autumn could hear the sound of a musket being cranked, and then, the remaining raider exploded in a cascade of gore.

“Righty-ho,” chirped Codsworth, “I do believe that’s all of them!”

“Not quite,” she responded, her voice strained.

“Miss Autumn, why you’re shaking again, is everything all…..” Before the worried robot was able to finish his sentence, a shuddering roar reverberated through the almost empty streets. They heard a frantic shout from the balcony, “DEATHCLAW!”

This post has been edited by ArtemisNoir: Apr 21 2023, 10:35 PM