So I decided to just post this first into Fallout: Prophecy since it fit well there to give Tanner more backstory, but this story originally belonged here, so I'm posting it for completion.
Ten years ago, a month after the events of Fallout: New York “World’s Fair”
Tanner sat on the hill-side, away from their camp. Traveling west with Clyde, Alexander, and Kriegz was interesting, to say the least. The ghoul and his sidekick were just heading west in general, but Kriegz was going to break off to head north to Minnesota soon. Tanner didn’t know what to make of their ragtag bunch. Most of the time was spent arguing, with Tanner just ducking his head against bickering, and when they weren’t arguing they were making rude comments.
And then there wa…Read more >
Little update. I have a few Fallout blogs I'm going to do coming up. Firstly, the third part of this one is going to cover exactly why Tanner now hates and is hunting Hades/The Boss. Then, since I left Aloha Islands, I'm going to do a blog about Randall getting trapped there and escaping-- the time it happens is going to be before Brothers in Binds. Thirdly, I'm going to a blog series based on the Courier.
That's all, thanks for reading.
Spring of 2286, three months before the events of Fallout: Prophecy.
The two Brotherhood knights looked down at the man in front of them, as if unsure what to do.
Tanner didn’t know why. His request had been pretty simple.
“You’re a Knight from the other Midwest chapter.” One knight repeated, his voice louder…Read more >
This is my first time visiting the Gravel Pit, and I'm now working on new RP ideas, do you prefer a serious warfare-theme story? A survival challenge? An overseer simulator? A relaxing adventure story? Or a funny, non-standard RP? Feel free to throw in whatever suggestion you want.Read more >
2279, 3 Years since the Re-opening of the New York World’s Fair and the defeat of Clive.
Tanner held the small, fluttering piece of paper pinched between two fingers. The wind whipped and tore at the paper, but he held firm. The picture was wrong.
He’d tried at least two dozen times to draw it right, to reproduce the image that was in his head. Tanner’d give anything for a photograph, but nothing like that had been available to him. He had nothing to remind him of her, nothing to remember her by. So he tried, poorly, to reconstruct her image.
It was a boy’s face. Inaccurate of course, as he had never seen the child’s face. He drew the features different every time, picturing all the different combinations the child could be. But it was nothin…Read more >
April 13th, 2285
Corpus Christi, Texas, USA
The overhead sun beat down fiercely upon the head of Richard Barton as he traversed the Texan landscape. Of all the assignments he had been assigned over the years, he hated the ones that forced him to head down to the former Texas territory. The heat down here being awful, coupled with the lack of water and giant desert creatures being everywhere, made this place almost unbearable. Not to mention that this town was a short distance away from Houston, which took many hit during the Great War and was thus the reason for no moist ground. And he was a very short distance from the radiation fields.
Helen knew that Richard hated going into the southern part of the countr…Read more >
April 10th, 2285
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Malcolm looked out of the window of Callaghan’s car, his eyes followed the upward lines of the tall buildings as they passed by. You usually see this city in the movies or on postcards send by friends on their honeymoon but really; nothing quite prepares you for the real deal, when you’re actually smack in the middle of the urban jungle and you get the true sense for the verticality of the place.
The streets somehow all managed to look the same. Especially in the downtown area were the hotel was. It usually went as followed: ‘expensive shop - yellow taxi – greasy hotdog stand’ and exactly in that order too, Malcolm found it sort of uncanny. But soon the pattern was broken when they went up the high speed freeway where fusion cars could gli…Read more >
Edward Crane sat anxiously at the control board, awaiting the arrival of the General herself. Although her official title was not General (She didn’t have a title at all), it seemed like that title fit her the best.
He looked down at the screen again, to see what Rick was up to now. The Ghoul, dressed in a dirty and torn military fatigue outfit and long black cargo pants, was still ranting and screaming at the camera, which he had been doing so for the past 25 minutes. His saliva was all over the lens. Crane sighed and pressed down on a button to open up communication. “Mr. Deere, please refrain from putting more saliva on the Camera Lens,” He muttered into the speaker.
“I will put my Saliva wherever the hell I wa…Read more >
March 19th, 2285
Dear Ms. Castile
I have assembled a collection of files on the 8 potential mercenaries, as you have requested. After extensive research, this is all of the information that my team and I could find. I hope you find this satisfactory.
Name: Saishu Ketsueki
Weight: 180 Ibs
Eye Color: Green
Areas of Expertise: Infiltration, Swordsmanship
Last Known Whereabouts: Northeastern United States.
Notes: Not much to note about him. Hardly ever seen around major settlements, and when he is, documents show he only stays for about 1-2 days. He moves around the country without detection. Shouldn’t be a problem for us to find
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The rail car clicked over the tracks.
Cable groaned, stirring inside.
Cable tried to sit up, and two things happened. One, his head immediately protested in agony. Secondly, he hit his aching head on the lid of the sealed rail car. With another pained moan he dropped back down to the cart’s floor. He tentatively touched his cheek and hissed at the flare of pain it brought. The bone was broken for sure, and by the puffy soreness beneath his fingers, it was probably swollen to the size of an apple. He couldn’t see his own hand in front of his face- the cart was pitch black. It was also cramped, his knees were almost into his chest.
Anger replaced pain and fear, and he kicked the lid of the ca…
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Kent and Malcolm both wore black dinner jackets that evening. An old habit from an age where just about any occasion warranted their use. From Christmas dinners to late night television quiz panel shows.
Why else would you have one? For that ‘one’ prom night or wedding?
Malcolm thought on the subject as he played with the fine silver cutlery on the table whilst waiting somewhat anxiously for their meal. He hadn’t eaten anything since he left London this morning so it was probably safe to assume he was positively starving. Why on earth Kent chose this fancy restaurant where it took ages for your food to arrive he didn’t really know, although he could probably guess it was because of the American’s love for excess and showing off. But really, …Read more >
Cable frowned, and stayed prone on his hill top. He peered through the binoculars, trying to figure out just what exactly he was looking at.
Your own death is what you’re looking at.
He thought, realizing he’d zoomed in too far. When the binoculars refocused, he was staring at a rather sizable radscorpion in the valley below. It hadn't seemed to notice him yet, but he doubted that would last long. Couldn't they sniff the air or something?
His spear lay on the ground next to him, his meager belongings tied to its head, just below the blade. He reached to his waist and pulled one of his two 10mm pistols free. The pistol’s sights got caught on the leather and the metal scraped the dirt as he jerked it free. The scorpion perked up.
Idiot! He cu…
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The plane landed gracefully on the six thousand feet long runway despite the heavy rain. A nice bit of maneuvering of the pilot for sure, which in turn was commended by the passengers whom had started applauding the fact they made it across the Atlantic in one piece.
“Ladies and gentlemen welcome to John F. Kennedy airport, New York”
The airport was a marvel of space age architecture. Big, expensive, undeniably American and utterly futuristic in its appearance, the reception looked like a space station from an old 20th century sci-fi flick if it weren’t for the giant windows that let in grimy autumn weather daylight. The terminal where people would arrive from their flights had a huge slightly forward leaning glass wall which looked out over…Read more >
January, 2030. Mothership Epsilon.
Byron gasped for air as warm blood rushed back into his frigid limbs. This wasn’t a new experience. Several times the demons, or ‘Epsilonians’ as the creatures called themselves, had unfrozen him and asked him ridiculous questions. Dressing standards, sometimes to speak lines, sometimes about his own codes of honor. Over time, Byron began to understand that, as this wasn’t Heaven and he hadn’t been called here by God, that they had captured him at random. He was fairly resistant to their interrogation. They refused to treat him with chivalry, even when he demanded it, and thus he was resistant with them. They’d tried hitting him with things to make him speak, but Byron soon became used to the artifi…
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So, this will be the first part of a horror inspired blog story series I have been working on for some time. Actually the idea dates back to FO3 what with all the creepy-ass vaults that could be found around there. But with the newly sparked interest of FO4, I have chosen to refresh the idea and give it some more detail and depth... and voila! Here it is! I introduce you to a chilling story of a Brotherhood of Steel mission gone totally awry. A story of paranoia, deception, and a battle against an unseen enemy. Here is The Rot...
"Any sign of them?" asked Knight Wilkins and peered out over the barren wastes of what used to be the state of Minnesota, now known as the Niflheim.
"Negative", echoed the static voice of Knight Riddings over the rad…Read more >
June, 1192. Mothership Epsilon.
Byron opened his eyes and, with blurry vision, surveyed the metal ceiling of heaven. That is where he was. A blinding flash of light and a removal into the sky? That was surely a sign that he had departed his mortal body. But why? Why did the Lord take him away when he was so clearly still needed? The Crusade would fall apart without him. Richard undoubtedly would think him assassinated- Byron had been in his prime. A mysterious death caused by God himself would not be accepted.
He was on his back, on a cold, metal surface. He was in some sort of circular room, with one door way in and out. He coughed, his lungs gasping for air they had been deprived, and his vision cleared.
There were little green men st…
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June, 1192 AD. The Judean Mountains.
Byron looked upon Jerusalem. The large stone walls, the plain flat desert separating him from the holiest city on God’s earth. He wasn’t sure if it was worth all the fuss. That very thought was blasphemy, yes, and he certainly should not think it, but he assumed God would agree. The Lord would not want so much glorious death in his name, no matter how much men with heavy, weighted titles said so. Not that Byron would ever say so outright. ‘Twas not his place.
“Sir Henry.” A soldier called, approaching the knight from beyond. Byron grimaced at the use of his formal name, and turned to face the soldier clad in mail. The man saluted, bringing his arm across his chest quickly.
“Yes?” Byron asked tiredly.
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I started writing a Fallout story, nearly two years ago now, on Fanfiction.net (I wanted feedback m'kay?). Anyway, since I can't post the story here (without being labelled as a plagiarist and I can't really switch sites, now that I'm halfway through (that and I'm pretty optimistic that Fallout 4 will bring in some more vocal readers) I'm going to post links to the parts as I complete another chapter.
This story continues on From Fallout: New York, for those wondering what Hamilton did, once he returned home. :P
https://www.fanfiction.net/s/10312911/9/Iconoclash (Link to chapter 1 for noobs)
So, after nearly a year, I finally finished part 9!
https://www.fanfiction.net/s/10312911/9/Iconoclash (Latest Chapter)Read more >