Valcust
Lord of Altera
A few days ago, in my immense boredom, I discovered a likeness between the Tolkienverse and the Fallout universe.
Here me out here:
Hobbits- Vault dwellers
Wizards- Expert scribes
"Lidless eye"- Computer AI
Smeagol- Nearly Feral Ghoul
Uruk hai- Supermutants
Eagles- Nellis AFB
in case you're still not convinced, I've adapted the introduction to "the hobbit".
Enjoy.
(note: I may or may not continue on with this.)
In a hole in the ground, there lived a colony.
Not a nasty, dirty, wet hole, filled with the ends of worms and an oozy smell, nor yet a dry, bare, sandy hole with nothing in it to sit down on or to eat: it was a vault, and that means safety.
It has a door shaped as a cog, twelve feet across, reinforced steel, with a yellow “101” printed on the outer wall in the exact middle. The door opened as a large robotic appendage grabbed hold of the back, pulled with thousands of tons of force, and with sparks, pulled it out of it’s cog-shaped socket. The door would then roll sideways, allowing the greeting room to be exposed. The greeting room was a very adequate bunker, steel lined the walls, and led was lying in layers just beyond that, all to ensure that nothing would get in- the vault dwellers weren’t fond of visitors.
The rest of the vault went on and on, spiraling down into the wasteland several hundred feet- The Wasteland, as nearly every living soul called it- the door was the only opening to the outside world. Stairs were an integral part of a vault dweller’s life, the atrium stretched four stories upwards, connecting living quarters,restrooms, generator rooms, water filtration systems (lots of these), a wardrobe dispensary (each jumpsuit uniform, standard sizes to fit whomever should need one), the mess hall, educational facilities, and fully stocked medical facilities, all on separate floors, all without an elevator to speak of. The most vital components to the vault were kept on the lower levels, for these required the most protection. Outside the vault was but a dead, dry hill, overlooking the ruins of DC.
This vault dweller was a very well-to-do man, and his name was Bennett. The Bennetts had lived in the vault for time out of mind, and people considered them very respectable, not only because most of them were smart, but also because they never had any adventures or did anything unexpected: you could tell what a Bennett would say on any question without the bother of asking him. This is a story of how a Bennett had an adventure, and found himself doing and saying things altogether unexpected. He may have lost the overseer’s respect, but he gained- well, you will see whether he gained anything in the end.
The mother of our particular vault dweller- what is a vault? I suppose vaults need some description nowadays, since they were constructed long ago, and behind closed doors even then. They are (or were) bunkers, safehouses meant to shelter the seed of humanity from even the harshest of disasters. There is little or nothing known about what goes on in most of them, except for the few who’ve opened their doors to the outside world, ready to take in any regular wasteland folk like you and me, making trouble everywhere we go, trouble they can hear a mile away. They (the vault dwellers) are inclined to be built in muscle; they dress in uniforms(colored blue and yellow, their vault number stitched into the backs of each jumpsuit, their wrist covered in a portable computer which seemed to track every vital sign of their body), their bellies are well fed, have good natured faces, and laugh just as any child would in ignorance of the world (especially when they first stumble out of the iron fortresses, which doesn’t happen too often.) Now you know enough to go on with. As I was saying, the mother of this vault dweller- of Billy Bennett, that is- was the famous Miss Ocean herself, daughter of that scientist who gave us all the clean water we could drink. It was said, long ago, that one of his ancestors must’ve gulped down a thousand and one mentats to make a man that smart. That was, of course, absurd, but certainly there was still something not entirely average about them, and once in awhile members of the Ocean family would go and have adventures. They secretly disappeared, and the family hushed it up; but the fact remained that the Oceans were not as respectable as the Bennetts, though they were undoubtedly richer.
Not that Miss Ocean ever had any adventures after she became Mrs. Christine Bennett. Fidel, that was Billy’s father, and the vault’s overseer at the time, had an entirely new bed built from the finest materials the merchant’s caravan had to offer (he may’ve used some of her caps to pay for it), and the two remained within power until the end of their days. Still it is probable that Billy, her only son, although he looked and behaved exactly like a second edition of his solid and comfortable father, got something a bit out of whack in his make-up from the Ocean side, something that only waited for a chance to come out. The chance never arrived, until Billy was a grown up, being about thirty years old or so, and living in the same quarters as his father did, until he had in fact apparently settled down immovably.
By some weird chance one morning long ago in the quiet of the wastes, when there was slightly less murder and more dust, and the number of closed vaults was still numerous, and Billy Bennett was standing at his station by the Vault door after breakfast smoking the largest stogie the last merchant who drifted by had to offer- Scribe Gene came by. Gene! If you had heard only a quarter of what I have heard about him, and I have only heard what comes through the grapevines of brotherhood banter, you would be prepared for any sort of remarkable tale. Tales and adventures sprouted up all over the place wherever he went, in the most extraordinary fashion. He had not been down that way beyond the highway for ages and ages, not since his friend the Old Ocean died, in fact, the vault dwellers had almost forgotten what he looked like. He had been away over the mountains and across the wastes on business of his own since they were all small vault-boys and vault-girls.
All that the unsuspecting Billy saw that morning was an old man with a staff and a backpack. He had a dark, clean red hood over his head, a long cloak the same shade of crimson, a silver scarf over which his long white beard hung down below his chest, and immense black boots...
Here me out here:
Hobbits- Vault dwellers
Wizards- Expert scribes
"Lidless eye"- Computer AI
Smeagol- Nearly Feral Ghoul
Uruk hai- Supermutants
Eagles- Nellis AFB
in case you're still not convinced, I've adapted the introduction to "the hobbit".
Enjoy.
(note: I may or may not continue on with this.)
In a hole in the ground, there lived a colony.
Not a nasty, dirty, wet hole, filled with the ends of worms and an oozy smell, nor yet a dry, bare, sandy hole with nothing in it to sit down on or to eat: it was a vault, and that means safety.
It has a door shaped as a cog, twelve feet across, reinforced steel, with a yellow “101” printed on the outer wall in the exact middle. The door opened as a large robotic appendage grabbed hold of the back, pulled with thousands of tons of force, and with sparks, pulled it out of it’s cog-shaped socket. The door would then roll sideways, allowing the greeting room to be exposed. The greeting room was a very adequate bunker, steel lined the walls, and led was lying in layers just beyond that, all to ensure that nothing would get in- the vault dwellers weren’t fond of visitors.
The rest of the vault went on and on, spiraling down into the wasteland several hundred feet- The Wasteland, as nearly every living soul called it- the door was the only opening to the outside world. Stairs were an integral part of a vault dweller’s life, the atrium stretched four stories upwards, connecting living quarters,restrooms, generator rooms, water filtration systems (lots of these), a wardrobe dispensary (each jumpsuit uniform, standard sizes to fit whomever should need one), the mess hall, educational facilities, and fully stocked medical facilities, all on separate floors, all without an elevator to speak of. The most vital components to the vault were kept on the lower levels, for these required the most protection. Outside the vault was but a dead, dry hill, overlooking the ruins of DC.
This vault dweller was a very well-to-do man, and his name was Bennett. The Bennetts had lived in the vault for time out of mind, and people considered them very respectable, not only because most of them were smart, but also because they never had any adventures or did anything unexpected: you could tell what a Bennett would say on any question without the bother of asking him. This is a story of how a Bennett had an adventure, and found himself doing and saying things altogether unexpected. He may have lost the overseer’s respect, but he gained- well, you will see whether he gained anything in the end.
The mother of our particular vault dweller- what is a vault? I suppose vaults need some description nowadays, since they were constructed long ago, and behind closed doors even then. They are (or were) bunkers, safehouses meant to shelter the seed of humanity from even the harshest of disasters. There is little or nothing known about what goes on in most of them, except for the few who’ve opened their doors to the outside world, ready to take in any regular wasteland folk like you and me, making trouble everywhere we go, trouble they can hear a mile away. They (the vault dwellers) are inclined to be built in muscle; they dress in uniforms(colored blue and yellow, their vault number stitched into the backs of each jumpsuit, their wrist covered in a portable computer which seemed to track every vital sign of their body), their bellies are well fed, have good natured faces, and laugh just as any child would in ignorance of the world (especially when they first stumble out of the iron fortresses, which doesn’t happen too often.) Now you know enough to go on with. As I was saying, the mother of this vault dweller- of Billy Bennett, that is- was the famous Miss Ocean herself, daughter of that scientist who gave us all the clean water we could drink. It was said, long ago, that one of his ancestors must’ve gulped down a thousand and one mentats to make a man that smart. That was, of course, absurd, but certainly there was still something not entirely average about them, and once in awhile members of the Ocean family would go and have adventures. They secretly disappeared, and the family hushed it up; but the fact remained that the Oceans were not as respectable as the Bennetts, though they were undoubtedly richer.
Not that Miss Ocean ever had any adventures after she became Mrs. Christine Bennett. Fidel, that was Billy’s father, and the vault’s overseer at the time, had an entirely new bed built from the finest materials the merchant’s caravan had to offer (he may’ve used some of her caps to pay for it), and the two remained within power until the end of their days. Still it is probable that Billy, her only son, although he looked and behaved exactly like a second edition of his solid and comfortable father, got something a bit out of whack in his make-up from the Ocean side, something that only waited for a chance to come out. The chance never arrived, until Billy was a grown up, being about thirty years old or so, and living in the same quarters as his father did, until he had in fact apparently settled down immovably.
By some weird chance one morning long ago in the quiet of the wastes, when there was slightly less murder and more dust, and the number of closed vaults was still numerous, and Billy Bennett was standing at his station by the Vault door after breakfast smoking the largest stogie the last merchant who drifted by had to offer- Scribe Gene came by. Gene! If you had heard only a quarter of what I have heard about him, and I have only heard what comes through the grapevines of brotherhood banter, you would be prepared for any sort of remarkable tale. Tales and adventures sprouted up all over the place wherever he went, in the most extraordinary fashion. He had not been down that way beyond the highway for ages and ages, not since his friend the Old Ocean died, in fact, the vault dwellers had almost forgotten what he looked like. He had been away over the mountains and across the wastes on business of his own since they were all small vault-boys and vault-girls.
All that the unsuspecting Billy saw that morning was an old man with a staff and a backpack. He had a dark, clean red hood over his head, a long cloak the same shade of crimson, a silver scarf over which his long white beard hung down below his chest, and immense black boots...
That poll is mean...
