Zaresto

Life In The Vault

go ham

Life In The Vault

There have been a rash of new users starting up Fallout Vault RPs and then bailing when people get excited for it.

I think this is trolling taken to its next level we're dealing with.

@Darcs

I think someone hired a hitman.

Fallout: Capital Graveyard

Elysia Sykes

Elysia’s heart stopped as abruptly as she did when the thug made his demands. However, in a matter of seconds, anger overcame her fear. How could this goon act like he owned me, she thought, and it’s not like I care about this Enclave guy anyhow. She tried to devise a plan on how she could take control of this situation, but she couldn’t see what sort of gun, or guns, this robber had, and where he was aiming. Things looked rather grim.

Elysia’s grip tightened on her assault rifle. She gave it a brief glance, quickly examining the weapon. It was in near perfect condition. She had cleaned it just a few days ago and was fortunate enough to not have used it since. Damn, I don’t wanna use this here, but I need to act now she thought as she steadied her breath. This exchange could be her last, after all.

With a new-found resolution, she had decided that she would run in and try to kill this thug as soon as possible. Her heart raced as she felt another surge of adrenalin. She thought of her past, of the future she could lose in the blink of an eye. This is no time to show fear, she thought as she envisioned her parents, but she quickly thrust that image away, not wanting to break down crying. She took a deep breath and prepared to run down the stairs. Elysia felt sweat run down her face as she took her first step. Slow, at first, but as soon as she made contact with the ground, she burst into a sprint down the stairs.

THUD!

CRASH!

Elysia stopped dead in her tracks as she witnessed the two men’s bout. The Enclave soldier slammed the robber with enough force to send him flying through the side wall. She felt herself give a sigh of relief, although her body still seemed on edge. She walked slowly down the steps to examine the thug, aiming her weapon at him in the process. She didn’t have much to worry about, seeing as how the guy seemed to be unconscious, judging by his silence after muttering some curse and the stillness of his body, but she noted that some wastelanders had enough acting prowess to join a theatre troupe.

“Hey, Scott,” she managed to say, “wait up for me next time, ‘kay?” She gave a nervous chuckle as she tried to pry the bandit out of the wall, her assault rifle now hanging by a makeshift strap that ran around her neck and under her armpit. This guy was heavy, and it took most of her strength to try and get this guy out, as she eventually had to drag him out by his arms.

She sprawled the looter out upon a the stairs, having little regard for his well being. She didn’t bother trying to take off his gas mask, opting to sift through his backpack instead.

“No honor among thieves, my friend,” she whispered to the unconscious body as she opened his backpack. She didn’t really want to steal much from him. In a way, she felt some pity for the guy. Still, she didn’t hesitate taking some caps, food, drink, and ammunition, although only so much so that he hopefully wouldn’t notice.

Elysia picked herself up and closed her backpack, which had been a bit lighter just a few moments ago. She grasped her rifle once again, thankful that she didn’t have to use it. She dusted herself off, her masked face looking down upon the bandit. What was his story?

Fallout: Capital Graveyard

Elysia Sykes

Elysia sighed once more as this Scott fellow sprinted off, without any regard for what she wanted to do. She felt a tinge of sadness at his lack of compassion but dismissed it as some sort of zealous determination to his faction, one that caused him to run away from her at that very moment. Still, she wished to have talked to him. She hadn’t had any real human interaction for almost a week, and it upset her that her first real chance for human communication in days had left right after they exchanged names.

She wanted to stop for a smoke, yet she knew she had no time to dilly-dally. Her “prisoner” was running further away from her by the second. A feeling of solemn frustration enveloped her as she began to run after him. How could this guy be so naive, she thought to herself, isn’t it obvious that I have to get him out of this place. She then, strangely, found herself more and more worried about the well-being of this stranger. He won’t last long, not in the condition he’s in now, she mused as she began to descend the crumbling staircase of the office building, her weapon at the ready and the contents of her backpack noisily clanging with each step she made.

She passed by the floors she had perused earlier. She was disheartened by the fact that she hadn’t found anything of value but also noted that this place had probably been picked clean by two hundred years of scavengers. It gave her a solemn sense of scale and furthered her insecurity. However, she turned her focus back on following her new companion, trying not to allow such philosophical matters to wander into her conscious.

She walked down the stairs carefully, keeping near the wall in anticipation of any dirty tricks from the soldier. It was clear that she didn’t trust him that much, even if he hadn’t tried to fight her. Although, his passivity might have been caused by the fact that I was holding him at gunpoint, she thought.

As she moved down the stairwell, she noticed something out of place. She was able to hear the footsteps of Scott, who was just a bit further down, but his movements seemed much too loud. She understood that a man in power armor must be a sort of lumbering giant, but this sounded like more than just one man. A jolt of fear ran down her spine, realizing the ramifications of this discovery.

“HEY, SCOTT!” Elysia shouted, “I DON’T THINK WE’RE ALONE HERE!” Her voice was much louder than she had expected, but it would serve to efficiently warn her new friend of any danger. Unfortunately, it also had the added consequence of alerting whatever company had been present. Elysia quickened her pace to try and catch up with Scott, while also staying alert in case of an unexpected encounter. Adrenalin raced through her as she tried to anticipate what could happen, for all she knew this encounter could be fatal or otherwise deleterious to her health. This day turned from good to terrible in a fraction of a second.

Life In The Vault

Isabella Dutch

Name: Isabella Dutch

Gender: Female

Age: 28

Appearance: Is 5' 8" tall, weighing 140 pounds. Has a B/W/H of 38/24/36 inches.

Personality: Friendly and well-mannered, Isabella is no stranger to social interaction. She has had extensive experience talking people into doing what she wants, although she rarely does so with malicious intent. She deals with her problems head on, and generally speaks her mind when. Although, she will generally relent to many arguments when it is clear she can't convince the opposing party. While she doesn't have any sort of superiority complex, Isabella is quick to get annoyed at her fellow Vault dwellers, especially if things don't go her way.

Occupation: Doctor

Biography: Born like any other person in the Vault, Isabella has gotten accustomed to the filtered air and artificial sunlight of the Vault. Her family were all considered some of the Vaults best minds, so Isabella was pressured at a young age to do well in school. She read many books throughout her childhood and adolescence, without having much in the way of interaction with fellow dwellers. However, this insularity paid off, as she was able to pass her GOAT exam and land a job as a Vault Doctor. She breathed a sigh of relief as she began her training, but the world of work was much different than the world of study. She soon had to perfect her interpersonal skills, realizing that the mouth was as powerful as the mind.

Now, Isabella lives comfortably and is familiar with many Vault residents, although she often wonders how life is outside the Vault.

Fallout: Capital Graveyard

@Zaresto

thats rather picky. but its been quite a while since ive played fallout 3 i was going off of new vegas. (and yes, i am aware there is a difference between .308 and .50)

and if anyone cares that much ill edit it

@Sophrus

I care . . .

You're probably thinking of the Anti-Material Rifle in regard to your character's rifle.

Fallout: Capital Graveyard

Elysia Sykes

The woman stared at the man while he pleaded with her. Deep down, she felt a modicum of pity for this guy. After all, his squad had presumably all died, he most likely had a killer headache and now he sat at the mercy of some random wastelander. Although, on the other hand, she didn’t really care much for this guy. She looked at the piece of cloth with intrigue.

Of course, she knew she had no real obligation to the Enclave or any remnant of the U.S. government, for that matter. This was the Wasteland, the Graveyard, the governments of the world had fallen, this wasn’t the old way of living anymore; this wasn’t the old existence, this was existence 2.0. It frustrated her a little how out of touch this man was with the Wasteland. Why didn’t he understand that the Enclave were hated here, they were the bad guys throughout the Wasteland, she thought. This guy should be groveling at her feet, pleading for her not to kill him. Yet she still felt some empathy to help him, some calling to help this poor soldier out. After all, she didn’t hate the Enclave that much. Sure, they had done a few wrong things, but she kept out of their way and they were rather successful in their killings of the Wasteland’s mutants.

The woman wondered what compensation she could get for returning this guy back to his base. Perhaps she could get a substantial amount of caps or some cool weaponry or maybe even a Vertibird. However, her enthusiasm was soon silenced by a surge of skepticism. After all, they could just as easily give her a bullet to the head or enslave her, which would probably be much easier, especially considering she held one of their men at gunpoint. She silently weighed her options as the man stared at her, holding his precious piece of cloth in front of him.

Finally, she relented. There was no real use for this kind of man, especially considering his background. A high and mighty Enclave soldier would never be an obedient slave. Heck, she would probably have an easier time asking one of those cucks from the Brotherhood. Neither would he be a good bodyguard. If anything, giving this man a gun and her trust would be tantamount to offering herself as a hostage. She also really didn’t like the idea of killing or robbing him, both would probably weigh her down and would lead to his death either way. No, she figured the best option would probably be to help him out. After all, she thought sarcastically, it was the least she could do for this brave soldier of the United States.

“All right, get up, get up,” she commanded, her balaclava only slightly altering the sound of her voice, “I’ll take you to your comrades, but I’m keeping your helmet; I’ll need a clear shot of your head if we’re to be wandering around together.”

The woman got out her seat, her rifle still aimed at the man’s head as she waited for him to stand up. She heard the faint sound of a Vertibird as it flew through the sky above, she hoped that this guy wouldn’t get any bright ideas if he happened to hear it.

“By the way, my name's Elysia, what’s yours?” she asked, her politeness partially corrupted by the fact that she still had this man at gunpoint.

Fallout: Capital Graveyard

@SophrusFallout 3's sniper rifles are chambered to fire .308 rounds, not the .50 BMG you mentioned in your post.

.50 BMG is the first on the left, .308 is third from the left. There is quite the difference.

Surviving: The End. (Season 1) (CLOSING, look for reboot!)

Name: Nnamdi Chijindum Chikondi Obama

Group: Walker

Age: 29

Occupation: Movie Star

Family life: Single, once had relationship with a woman

Hair: Short black hair

Eyes: Dark Brown

Weight/Height: 195 lbs, 5’ 10”

Blood type: A+

Immune: Yes

Gear: Carries with him a Ruger Collector’s Series 10/22 rifle, with about 500 22LR rounds and four BX-25 25 round magazines. Also carries a hatchet as his go-to backup weapon. Has filled himself a backpack with miscellaneous survival gear and clothing, as well.

Bio: In most places within Africa, being born to a stable family is comparable to being born into royalty. In that case, Nnamdi was born as a king. He was born to a very wealthy family in Kampala, the capital of Uganda. He went to a private school where he learned many things that he had little interest in. All he cared about was movies. He loved Schwarzenegger, Stallone and Willis, he watched movies whenever he could. He longed for when his extended family visited, always knowing they could bring some sort of new movie from the West.

As Nnamdi grew older, he looked at movies differently. While he still went to school, his real study was of movies. He loved looking at cinematography and analyzing why they did what they did. He loved looking for secrets in the scenery and other nifty facts. Most of all, he loved the action heroes. By the time he left his studies, he had made quite a few friends, one of whom set him up with a few people in Wakaliwood, a budding film industry in one of Uganda’s slums.

He auditioned and became of the lead actors on the spot, mostly due to his connections rather than his acting skills. He was one of Tiger Mafia’s main men in the hit film, ‘Who Killed Captain Alex?’. Soon after the movie was finished, another was soon in the works, thanks to some help from a few of Nnamdi’s cousins. The sequel, ‘Who Killed Captain Alex AGAIN?’ was to be set in America, as a cheap zombie twist on the first movie. The movie was set to feature, “more explosions, more guns, more women, and more zombie,” as said by the film’s director to a curious airport official.

The group soon got to filming as soon as they entered America, now being able to use more real guns in wilderness settings. Filming was going as well as it could when disaster struck. The director was determined to keep filming despite the turbulent climate both within the States and abroad. It was a quiet morning when the crew noticed that the zombies shuffling around the set weren’t their expected extras.

Nevertheless, Nnamdi ran, taking with him one of the real guns they had on set, along with some of the bullets the production team had “acquired” in some city. There he was, alone, in a foreign country, with nothing but a gun and a funny accent to his name. It’s a miracle he made it this far.

Personality: Loud and boisterous, Nnamdi is a jolly fellow. Always optimistic, he is determined to look at the bright side of any scenario, interjecting bouts of comedy when he can. He often narrates any actions he does, in remembrance of his acting days. If anything, his raucous and clumsy mannerisms will be the death of him.

He is open to try anything, and will usually go with what anyone tells him to do. Although he’s smart, he can be naive at times. He thinks like an action hero and acts like one too, often feeling that he is nigh invincible and going out of his way to do “badass” and “cool” things.

He often wishes to go back to his home, but he knows that he never can.

Fallout: Capital Graveyard

Elysia Sykes

An armed figure rummaged through the empty husk of some office building. The rotting desks and chairs around her were disturbed from their slumber as she searched for anything of moderate value. The vast majority of the room's containers were empty or contained pencils, buttons and other worthless knick-knacks. After a rigorous search through most of the desks, finding nothing of real value, the woman sighed. She wondered how she even ended up in this spot. She shoved a dusty skeleton off of a chair, planting herself in its place. She stared at the skull, its bleak eyes stared back; its gaping maw made it look as if it was laughing. She kicked the skull away, wishing to stop herself before she ended up sharing a joke with the pile of bones.

The woman turned her attention to the window next to her. While it was faded and dusty, it was missing some panes, which gave her a clear view of the area outside. She looked upon the wasteland with a strange mixture of boredom and awe. She had seen the scenery many times, yet the amalgamation of the dreary, morose sky and row upon row of both decrepit buildings and battered cars evoked an emotion like no other. It was a testament to both human ingenuity and idiocy. It all produced a taxing feeling, one that stuck with its wearer and never truly left.

"This is the world we're livin' in . . ." she sighed. With a deep breath, she jumped out of the chair, trying to produce some sort of vigor within herself. The effects of this action were hampered as she heard her stomach grumble loudly, like a child crying out to its mother. She felt a dryness within her mouth as well. She needed some food and water.

The woman dragged herself into the next room, looking for something that could provide a modicum of sustenance. Her eyes were fixated on a stick of wrapped gum. She inspected it carefully. It wouldn't be enough, but it was something. She lifted part of her balaclava so her mouth was visible and gently began to unwrap the gum. She threw away the wrapper and stared at the gum with reverence before devouring it in the blink of an eye. The gum gave her a fleeting feeling of pleasure; some of its sugar particles still stuck after all those years. She eyed the wrapper and the words pasted on it. 'With real PIRATE TATTOO' were written in large black letters under the blue logo. She inspected the wrapper. Lo and behold, the "tattoo" was still there, although its dye was faded and it most likely wouldn't work. Still, she figured she could use it somewhere, so she placed it gently into her uniform pocket. The woman placed the balaclava back over her mouth and continued on her hunt for food.

It took her a while as she traversed over rubble while climbing the stairs, but soon, she found what she was looking for. A faded sign hung above a doorway, "Lounge". Within the room she saw a fridge and a Nuka-Cola machine. She silently celebrated as she ran towards the machine. The woman gently placed her gear on one of the tables within the lounge and began messing around with the apparatus. The woman shook the machine and heard the unmistakable sound of a number of bottles rattling. It was quite the conundrum trying to extract the bottles from the machine, but she managed to secure four Nuka-Colas, two of which she drank almost instantly. She began to search the fridge, elated that she was able to find such a cache of foodstuff. The fridge wasn't as exciting, as it only had some Cram and a few Salisbury Steaks, although she didn't complain.

Not long after she had eaten her fill, the woman heard the unmistakable sound of a Vertibird. She rushed to go see what it was doing, her heart racing. She hadn't heard the familiar buzz of those rotors in a while. The roof was just above her and a collapsed portion of it gave her a good pathway onto the top of the building. She took caution, her heart racing, hoping that they wouldn't shoot at her or land on the building she was in. The last thing she wanted was a shootout with some armored goons. Yet she soon saw that it was targeting one building with some Super Mutants plaguing it. Although this did little to ease her worries, she now also worried for the safety of the Vertibird. The Super Mutant that adorned the top of the infested building was outfitted with a rocket launcher, which she soon noticed but it seemed that the Enclave Vertibird didn't. As one of their men blasted a volley of fire, the mutant reciprocated with a clean shot back at the Vertibird. The woman watched in horror as the Vertibird spun out of control, flinging one of its men straight at the building she was in. She looked straight at the mutant, and for a moment it seemed as if the beast had smiled.

The woman ducked back into the building as she heard the explosion caused by the Vertibird. It took her a while to remember that the man crashed into her building and was probably on the same floor she was on. Adrenalin raced through her body; this entire scenario was too much to take in at once. She rushed to find where that soldier had been dropped, finding him propped up against a wall. It looked as if this guy had taken quite the bump to the head. She approached with caution, her heartbeat increasing with every step. She aimed her assault rifle at the soldier's head, as a precautionary measure, but she really didn't want to kill this sap. It was clear to her that this goon was out cold and was in no state to attack her. She tried pulling off his mask; it took a bit of elbow grease but she was soon able to reveal this soldiers face. The soldier was an older man, at least, older than her, and was clean shaven with short hair. The woman wasn't sure what she was expecting, but she figured he was kind of cute. She placed his helmet next to him as she moved back. She kept her gun pointed at his head as she sat herself down on one of the office chairs, prepared to sit with this guy for a while.