Today we begin our most assuredly descent into the living HELL that is Fallout: New Vegas' post-apocalyptic roleplaying sensation!
Before we start off however, some slight background for the uninitiated:
The world of Fallout is a revisionist telling of America being stuck in a 1950s art-deco military industrial conplex kind of vibe where cathode rays and vacuum tube technologies were still rampant near 100+ years later on, while ray-guns and atomic-fueled cars and personal robot servants were all the rage. Essentially imagine those "Welcome to the WORLD OF TOMORROW!" shorts with a splash of The Jetsons. Fun right? Except the cold war never ended, and China invaded Alaska for its oil resources. SO Vaul-tec, America's leading consumer choice for shelter solutions created a giant social experiment that were the Vaults; large fallout shelters that were to house specifically selected sections of the populace as part of a larger social experiement. Previous Fallout games have you play as dwellers of these vaults.
But this is Fallout: New Vegas. We're in the future: 2281 to be precise. We're in the Mojave desert, skittering across the dessecated husk of the Old World, eeking out an existence as a Courrier. Essentially we're a mail man. And we start off the game by being shot in the head, and left for dead on a courrier-run gone bad. From there-on its however we want to go, but our main goal above all-else is twofold:
1) find out who/where the sons of bitches are that done shot us in the head, and deal with them accordingly
2) retrieve our package and complete our delivery.
Everything else is thankfully free-reign.
Within the wastes are various factions of bandits, raiders, settlers, mercenaries etc, that are all vying for control of the Mojave and surrounding Nevada/California landscape. As with Skyrim, I've acquired the DLCs for this game, so we'll also be visiting parts of Utah, the Sierra Madre, Big Mountain & an area only known as 'The Divide'.
As with Skyrim, I'll be going through Fallout: New Vegas with a specific set of parameters that I,ll have to adhere to, regardless if doing something else or indeed the opposite would be more beneficial to me in my playthrough.
Currently, the ONLY suggestion I've recieved was by my friend Marty, who suggested "Put all your points into Luck." Which doesn't sound like much at first, but its a start. So I've built upon it, in that because the setting is Vegas, I was going to incarnate Ol' Blue Eyes himself, leader of the Rat Pack Frank Sinatra.
Except because its Fallout, I'd be forming my own group; the Rad Pack. As in Radiation. I am clever shut up. This would mean the following restrictions to my gameplay:
- All attribute points at character creation be spent into LUCK.
- Armor/Apparel restricted to old-world clothes when applicable (unless required for a quest, i.e. Ultra Lux attire)
- Weapons are restricted to pre-war items, closest possible to actual Rat Pack / Vegas / Sinatra-stuff as possible. So no gattling guns or lasers, or Power-Fists. Tommy guns are OK though.
- Tagged Skills: Guns (Frank's presumed Mob connections) Speech (Crooner life) and Barter (Vegas Livin' ain't Easy)
- Tagged Perks: Wild Wasteland & Skilled. Just to give myself the full weird Fallout experience and a 10% Experience points penalty ontop of not being able to wear armor or use awesome weapons why not.
Throughout gameplay, I'll be attempting to pick further perks that go along with the theme of the character when possible, while increasing my main skills as much as possible before spreading out into other areas. More than likely never updating skills such as Energy Weapons as they don't fit the theme & of no use to me as I'm auto-banning myself from using energy weapons (unless where specified from a quest. (There's actually one or two. Sucks, I know.)
And so here goes! Follow me on an amazing and wild adventure, won't you?
|Eeeeeh, what's up doc.|
Good ol Doc Mitchell there patched me up after Victor (More on him at a later date.) found me left for dead in Goodsprings' cemetery. Mind you an apt place to be left-for-dead. I mean its a simple job for the gravedigger to just cover the body with dirt, but I'm a lucky son-of-a-gun I guess. Doc's a real straight shooter, and asks me my name; however didn't peg me to be a 'Frankie'. Considering that the original choice is "Courier", I'd prefer being Frankie any day.
|Nah Nah Nah Nah DEFAULT-MAN!|
Well I'm not much to look at; Doc's asking me if he did an OK job stitching me up together again. Considering I was only told I was shot in the head, I don't really get what he's at. Unless I was dismembered and he's actually a sorcerer and brought be back from the dead, in which case WHAT. WHAT IS THIS DARK MAGICS.
Then comes the requisite 5 minutes of switching between hispanic, caucasian, african descent, male & female, constantly transmuting race & gender infront of Doc Mitchell's very eyes as if some glitching T-1000. Wolfy's just fine. Juuuuuuuuuuuuuuust fine. And so, my pitiful attempt at trying to resemble Frank Sinatra starts.
|Enh; blue eyes. Close enough.|
Well that's a fail. I'm sure there's a guide out there that explains in excruciating detail how to do it, but I can't be arsed sorry. Nope. I got things to shoot into the face with gun-things. Doc's all "can you has legs for walking now?" Which in non-idiot means "Can you walk around and see if your legs work still. And if so, please move towards the Vigor-o-Matic Stat-Tester, thank you."
So I do. Most of this section is a tutorial on how the simple game functions such as movement, etc. But y'know its fun. I likes fun.
|So luck much chance wowe|
First (and main) restriction: check. Happy Marty? Luck 10. I am gonna DIE within 10 feet of Doc Mitchell's house OR breeze through the game. I mean who knows; I might be that lucky.
Doc, satisfied with my movement and ability to play a carnival machine, asks me to follow him to his salon, so we may discuss some stuff. Mostly he wants to run a few rudimentary psych evaluations to see if that bullet to the dome I took didn't go about and lobotomize me or something. Cool. Cool cool cool. But first let me steal all your shit.
|+1 to being Dapper|
|Score! Lucky Strikes!|
Alright; Doc must be wondering where I went. I head on over to his living room, which is essentially a couch placed infront of a fireplace (Why does it have a fireplace, it never gets that cold there!?) and some chairs. Cozy. Welcoming. Comforting. Let's see what he has to say.
|PENIS. The answer is always PENIS.|
Well that was weird. Word association followed by multiple-choice Rorschach tests. That last one totally looks like two ants goin' butt-to-butt poopin' back and forth forever though. Whatever. Test results come back inconclusive, so he lets me pick my tagged skills (remember now, Barter, Guns, & Speech) And now to pick two traits:
|We can't stop here; this is radioactive bat county!|
Wild Wasteland is as described above: its just weird nonsense that you can randomly encounter while playing the game. Example: in Fallout 2, you could encounter Godzilla, The TARDIS, The Bridgekeeper from Monty Python & the Holy Grail, etc. This 'trait' just enables this in the game. Fun stuff. Skilled gives me a +5 to all base skills, at the cost of a reduction of 10% Experience points gained. A short boost overall in the early stages of the game, for a somewhat to sizeable penalty over the entire game as it progresses. Why? Because CHALLENGES, THAT'S WHY. Speaking of Challenges...
|I am a sissy, I fully admit it.|
I chose to not do Hardcore mode simply for the fact that while I'd actually like to try it, its not conductive for the way I play the game; I put in a few hour stretches here and there, and really Hardcore mode requires a lot more dedication than I have available for a 4 year old game I'm bloggin' about right now. I'd have to devote my every waking moment to playing the game, especially with the host of other restrictions I have in place, that to save myself some frustration, and you guys the sadness of me abandoning this blog enitrely, I'll play the game on the NOT retardedly hard difficulty mode.
|What's behind this door?|
Satisfied with everything, Doc Mitchell hands me an old pip boy and some duds; specifically a Vault 21 jumpsuit he had lying around, as to cover my shame. With little ceremony he sends me back out into the world, where I am free to poke around town, or tear off after the assholes that shot me in the brain.
Great, first thing I manage to do after cheating death in a post-apocalyptic radioactive wasteland, is become a gun-toting MRA. Look at that gun and hat action. Ready to oppress ladies left and right with my #NotAllMen bullshit. ugh ugh ugh. Hopefully I'll find something better to wear soon enough.
Until then, we'll just have to wait on the next installment! Which will be until further notice: Tuesdays. Gives you all a week to look it dem purdy pictures and comment on stuff. Maybe you have an idea for an added challenge? Maybe you'd like to tell me to go die in a fire? I don't know, maybe you would, or wouldn't; I'm not the boss of you. You're free to do as you choose! Choice! LIFE BE IN IT!